In Too Far: Volume I
by BlueNeutrino
Summary: Set when Voldemort is at the height of his powers. A girl gets drawn into the world of Barty Crouch Jr. and his involvement with the Death Eaters. By the time she realises what this could mean, is it too late for her to back out?
1. Chapter 1

_**In Too Far: Volume One**_

**Summary: Set when Voldemort is at the height of his powers. A girl gets drawn into the world of Barty Crouch Jr. and his involvement with the Death Eaters. ****By the time she realises what this could mean, is it too late for her to back out?** **Barty/OC and OC/OC. Rated T for possible language and mild sexual content.**

**A/N: My first attempt at HP fanfiction. Hope it goes alright.**

**Disclaimer: All things recognisable are J K Rowling's. Gwen and her parents are mine.**

**Chapter One**

Gwen Coulthard slumped at her desk, gazing forlornly at the clock on the wall. The seconds ticked slowly by, each one seeming to take longer than the last. _Come on, _she thought, _ten more minutes and I can go home. _On the opposite wall, fluorescent blue writing kept materialising on the white plaster then vanishing, only to be replaced as the share prices were updated. Apollo Broomsticks -0.05%, Rynmorak Crystal Corp. +0.01%, Dragon Breeders of Algeria -1.02%... Her client companies were displayed in red, and she was disappointed to note that both HiSpeedFloo and Transatlantic Owl Services were showing a decrease in share price. Her clients wouldn't be happy. Nor would the goblin down the hallway be if he knew she'd been sat here doing nothing for the past half hour, but with the markets in the state that they were at the moment, there really wasn't a lot she _could _do.

She sighed and got up to cross to the window, from which she could look out onto the rooftops of Diagon Alley below. Gringotts was by far the biggest building for quite a few miles, having several upper storeys to house the offices for its commercial and investment banking teams in addition to its vast network of underground vaults. Gwen was on the third floor, meaning she was high up enough to look down on the street below, but not so high that she couldn't make out the details. It was almost five o' clock, meaning about half the shops would be closing for trade soon, while the others would probably shut in about an hour. She noticed there were quite a few parents with teenagers still out shopping, and she suspected they were getting last minute equipment for the return to Hogwarts in a few days. Looking round a bit more, she could see a couple sat beneath the veranda outside Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour, enjoying what appeared to be a large peach melba in the August sunshine. Merlin, what she wouldn't give for a peach melba right now…

No, there was no point thinking about ice cream. She ought to be worrying about what she was going to say to the Executive Director of Transatlantic Owls in their meeting tomorrow, when he wanted to know why they weren't going to be able to press ahead with their Icelandic project. Well, if he was smart, he wouldn't need to ask. Since You-Know-Who's supporters had started hijacking companies, market confidence had plummeted. Nobody wanted to invest in anything. The stock exchange had ground to a halt. There was no way to raise funds for anything, and really she thought she should advise the XD to pull the plug on his project now, before things got even worse.

He probably wouldn't listen to her though. Few people did. They just saw the twenty year old daughter of one of Gringotts senior executives, who'd gotten the job of junior investment advisor purely through nepotism and not through merit. Her eight O's at NEWT level didn't count for anything. All that mattered was that her parents had high standing, so they must surely favour an incompetent daughter. She scowled at the thought. She may not be anything spectacular, but she wasn't incompetent. To say she'd only been in this job two years she was pretty damn good at it. Maybe she didn't put much of an effort in at times, but when it came down to it she definitely knew what she was doing. She'd even gotten a promotion to Project Coordinator last month, and everybody had been pretty congratulatory about it to her face. But she knew what they were saying behind her back. "It's only because her dad's started getting friendly with Barty Crouch…If her family weren't so well connected they'd give that position to someone who deserved it."

It had almost made her cry after overhearing that. Just thinking about it now, she could feel tears beginning to prick at her eyes. She _did_ deserve it, dammit. And if the markets weren't in such a sorry state right now she'd be able to show them that. But in the current climate, even the best outcomes were still pretty bad.

She glanced back at the clock on the wall. It was 4:58. Only two minutes off 5:00. That was close enough, wasn't it? She considered just trying to make a break for it now, but the goblin, Semog, who managed the group of offices on this floor, was a rather strict and intimidating boss and she'd rather not risk getting caught. She could wait a couple more minutes.

She turned back to the window, just in time to see the couple outside Florean Fortescue's get up to leave. She was just considering going for an ice cream on her way home when an owl flew up and landed on the window ledge. Recognising it immediately, Gwen rolled her eyes. Why did her mother insist on sending her owls at work when she may as well just leave a note at home?

She opened the window to collect her letter, giving the owl an affectionate stroke. "Hello, Eric. What're you doing flying all the way up here to see me? I'll be home soon you know." He cocked his head at her as if to say, _I'm delivering your letter. What do you think I'm doing? _She smiled and turned back into the room to read the letter, but Eric stayed perched on the window ledge, watching her expectantly. She gave him a funny look, "What?" He turned his head slightly, and she followed his gaze to the bowl of cockroach clusters she kept on her desk. Chuckling to herself, she fed him one and then watched as he flew off happily, leaving her alone in her office. The clock now showed it had gone past five o' clock now, but she wasn't too bothered. She may as well read the letter before leaving.

_Dear Gwen,_

_I won't be home when you get in as I'm going to Miranda Bones' to get ready for the party. I've just been informed it's highly likely the Minister for Magic will be there, so I've bought you a new dress to wear tonight – it's hung on the back of your door. _

_Sorry I won't be able to arrive with you and your father, but Mr. Crouch has asked to meet with those of us in the MLE Dept. before the party starts. It's all about work, work, work with him, but I'm afraid I have to agree to it._

_There'll be food at the party, but if you want a bit of something to eat before you go out I've left you a cheese tart on the kitchen table._

_Love, Mum x_

Gwen finished the letter and leaned back in her chair, grimacing. _Why mum? Why did you have to buy me a new dress? It'll look horrible on me, they always do. _Memories flooded into her head of her fifth year at Hogwarts, when her date to the Yule Ball – a Gryffindor boy who'd only agreed to take her following an argument with his girlfriend – had actually been embarassed to be seen with her in her pale blue floral patterned dress. He'd been back with his girlfriend before the night was over and she'd been left partnerless and humiliated.

She cringed at the memory. Blouses, suit trousers and smart black robes were the only things she ever felt comfortable in. Things that looked professional and didn't draw attention to her complete lack of a womanly figure. She didn't do dressing up for social occasions. Her social ineptitude was only made even worse by attempting to walk in high heels or show off in a dress she actually felt ridiculous in. There wasn't even much point in her going to this party, she'd only feel awkward and out of place. She supposed she could always just feign an illness to get out of it altogether, but that would only disappoint both her parents.

Gwen sighed and got up to leave. She couldn't be bothered with the ice cream now; she'd just use the fireplaces in the foyer and go straight home. It would take her ages to get ready for this party if she wanted to look even vaguely presentable, so she may as well start as soon as possible.

**Note: If anyone reviews this, I may respond with a brief note at the end of the next chapter instead of via PM if a) the reviewer is anonymous; or b) if a reviewers raises a point and I feel the response is something all readers would care to hear. If the notes ever get so long or the reviewers too numerous, I'll stop.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: If you're here it means you read the first chapter, for which I thank you! Now I hope you enjoy the next.**

**Disclaimer: No, I am not J K Rowling, so only tiny titbits of this are mine.**

**Chapter Two**

Gwen stepped out of the fireplace into her living room, dusting ash off of her robes. The sooty black grime fell onto the cream carpet, and she quickly cleaned it up with her wand, wishing – like she did every night of the week – that Gringotts would get better quality Floo powder. As she headed over into the kitchen she noticed the cheese tart her mum had left for her on the table, and she gave it a poke with her wand to heat it up. Putting her briefcase down on the table and draping her work robes over the back of a chair, she sat down to eat the tart straight from its foil tin.

After she'd finished the tart, she binned the tin and crossed to the sink to wash the grease from her hands. She glanced at the clock above the kitchen fireplace, but she was checking for the locations of family members, not the time. Mum's hand was on 'Visiting Friends' while Dad's was still at 'Work'. On most nights he finished work an hour after she did, so she expected him home just after six. The party was supposed to start at eight. _I suppose I best look at this dress Mum's bought me, then, _she thought.

Wringing her hands dry, Gwen headed upstairs to her bedroom. The dress was hung on the inside of the door, so she couldn't see it until she'd entered the room and closed the door behind her. She almost didn't want to look. It wasn't that she was worried about the dress being horrible – on the contrary, her mother had excellent taste in dresses. Rather, she was worried that the lovelier the dress, the more it would make her look plain and ugly by contrast.

As she closed the door a cascade of emerald green material came into sight and she gasped. That looked like silk. How much must this dress have cost? Not that money was particularly an issue given that both her parents were in well paid jobs, but her mother clearly really wanted to impress the Minister for Magic. Gwen gave a sceptical laugh. No matter how nice a dress her mother bought her, it was unlikely she would be impressing anybody.

After taking off her blouse and trousers, she slipped the dress on over her head and opened her wardrobe to use the full length mirror on the inside of the door. She cringed at the sight. The material hung loosely off her skinny frame and the straps were far too long – clearly designed for someone bustier than she was. She flicked her wand to try and adjust them, pulling the material tighter in a way such as to make her look more flat chested than ever. The way the dress was pinched in at the waist didn't help either, causing creases to form elsewhere in the fabric where she wasn't shaped correctly for it. Not to mention the colour made her sandy brown hair look even more dull. She sighed. This wasn't going to work.

Pulling off the dress, she searched in the wardrobe and took out a short sleeved navy button down dress that came to just above her knees. From the bottom of the wardrobe she took a pair of black shoes with tiny one inch heels and slipped them on as well, then stood in front of the mirror again. It didn't look like anything special. Very ordinary. Very conservative. Very her. She felt bad about not wearing the dress her mum had bought her, but she was much more likely to impress the Minister if she looked comfortable and presentable rather than flashy and awkward.

She put the green dress back on its hanger and hung it on the back of the door. The label was still in it, so she could take it back to the shop. She hoped her mother didn't mind too much, but it quite simply didn't fit her. Surely that was a good enough reason for not wearing it? _No, I'm just making excuses, _Gwen thought. Her mother would be upset and hurt that she hadn't worn the dress. But it would probably be easier just to have the argument with her mother over it than last the entire party feeling completely ridiculous. She'd been to enough of these events with her mother fussing over her appearance and picking out what she should wear. She was twenty, for Merlin's sake. She should be able to choose her own clothes by now.

Gwen looked across at her dressing table and the rather modest collection of make up there. She didn't normally bother with it, but tonight she supposed she ought to make some sort of an effort. She sat down in front of the mirror and considered her choice out of the three eyeshadow palettes she had: brown, green and blue. She thought she was supposed to pick a colour that brought out her eyes, but given that her eyes were grey she didn't think anything really complimented them. As it was the only one that went with her dress, she decided on the blue palette. Her mother had bought her that as well. The only occasions she'd ever used it had been when her mother put it on for her, since she was no good at applying it herself. _But still, _she thought, _I may as well try. _She used the applicator to dab some dark blue onto her right eyelid, and thinking it went alright, she then did the same to the left. She blinked and looked at the result in the mirror, realising she hadn't got it quite the same on both sides. "Damn." She tried putting a bit more on the left eye to make it the same shade as the right, but she only managed create a huge blotch in the centre of her eyelid. Scowling at her reflection in the mirror, she tried using her wand to adjust it, but to her the result just ended up looking like panda eyes. Giving a disgruntled huff, she waved her wand to remove it altogether and settled for just a bit of mascara. It didn't look outstanding but it would have to do.

She then picked out a pinkish shade of blusher and applied some to her sharp cheekbones, but the contrast with her pale skin didn't look natural. She decided to remove that as well, and instead just applied a touch of foundation to hide her freckles. _There, _she thought, gazing at herself in the mirror. _That looks fine. Not overdone, just quite natural._

She was just about to start on her hair when she heard a whooshing and a clanging sound downstairs, which meant her dad had just arrived in the fireplace. "Hi, Dad," she called out.

"Hello, Gwen," she heard him reply.

Slipping off her shoes and leaving them by the bed for later, she headed downstairs to greet him properly. As she reached the living room, she just had time to watch him take off his work robes and toss them over the back of the sofa before turning to look at her. Noticing the dress, he smiled. "You look very nice, Gwen."

Gwen grinned back. Her father understood her much better than her mother when it came to clothes and appearances. She'd much rather be told that she looked 'very nice' rather than 'lovely or 'beautiful,' as she found it hard to believe that the latter two could ever be meant sincerely. "Thanks, Dad. You think it'll be alright for the party, though? It's not too ordinary?"

Her father chuckled, "Actually, it's just the thing Mr Crouch approves of."

"What about the Minister? I heard he would be there, too."

Her father looked surprised "Really? Who told you that?"

"Well, Mum, actually."

He laughed, "Well, she probably knows better than I do. Yes, sweetheart, you look fine for the Minister."

Gwen smiled and followed her father as he headed into the kitchen. He prodded the kettle with his wand to set it boiling, then sat down at the table opposite his daughter.

"So, who exactly is going to be at this party, Dad?" Gwen asked.

John Coulthard leaned back in his chair and waved his wand to summon the mugs and teabags as he answered. "Well, Mr and Mrs Crouch are hosting as you know. They've also invited some senior staff from the Ministry, that's how your mother got her invitation. I daresay some of our clients from work have been invited too, although I wouldn't know which ones."

"Well, I hope Eli Belman's not one of them," Gwen laughed, "He's a miserable sod!"

"That he is," her father agreed, just as the kettle began to whistle. He gave a wave of his wand for it to start filling the mugs. "I don't see any reason why Mr Crouch would invite him though, I don't think he's ever had any dealings with collapsible cauldron manufacturers. I suspect young Crouch Jr's invited a few friends as well. You might know some of them."

She scowled at that. At Hogwarts she'd never mixed in the same circles as Barty Crouch Jr. Even with an investment banker father, she herself was never interesting enough to attract attention from that sort of people. "I might know _of _ them, Dad. There's a difference."

He took a sip of his tea that had finished making itself, before setting it down on the table and looking at her thoughtfully. "You and Crouch never really were friendly with each other, were you?"

She gave him an almost exasperated look. "Oh come on, Dad, you make it sound like we hated each other! I think we spoke to each other once, that's all. I mean, he was in Slytherin and I was in Ravenclaw and there are hundreds of kids at Hogwarts. It's not like I could be friends with all of them."

He laughed at her reaction, "Ok, ok. Fair point. But you never know, you might find you get on quite well with him tonight."

"Dad, he probably won't even notice me. He never has done before."

John shrugged his shoulders and was about to take another sip of his tea, but then stopped and looked around him with a confused expression. "Where's your mother?"

"Oh, didn't she tell you? She's gone to Mrs. Bones' to get ready because all of them in the Magical Law Enforcement Department have to be at a meeting before the party starts."

Her dad rolled his eyes. "I'll bet it's Crouch that's called for that, isn't it? He never stops working, that man. He probably won't stop talking to Moody about catching Death Eaters all the time we're there."

Gwen's face fell when her father said that, "Mad-Eye's going to be there?"

John raised an eyebrow whilst taking another slurp of his tea, "What's wrong with Mad-Eye?"

"He scares me."

John chuckled. "If you aren't a Death Eater you've got no reason to be scared of him."

"That's like telling me if I'm not a fly I've got no reason to be scared of spiders."

"Well, you haven't got any reason to be scared of spiders."

"I still am, though."

"Oh, well, never mind." John finished his tea and got up to put the cup in the sink, where the dish cloth immediately began to wash it by itself. "Mad-Eye's really nice once you get to know him, and you will eventually. Anyway, I must go and get ready. We'll need to leave in just under an hour."

"Ok, Dad." He headed out of the room, leaving Gwen alone to finish her tea. _Great, _she thought, _not only am I going to have to face Crouch Jr. again, Moody's going to be there as well. I suppose I do still have time to develop a sudden debilitating illness and not go… _But realistically though, she knew she couldn't back out of this. It was important for her parents' image that she turned up, and really it shouldn't be that hard just to show up at a party and try and be inconspicuous for a few hours. And her father might be right. She might get on okay with Crouch Jr. Or he might just not talk to her at all, which seemed more likely. From what she remembered, he wasn't the type to talk much to anybody. He was a bit like her in that respect, although he seemed more to be quiet through simply wanting to keep himself to himself while remaining subtly confident and self-assured, whereas she was rather awkward and socially inept so chose not to involve herself with others too much. She could remember the only time they'd ever talked to each other – she'd been reading a book in the library from the restricted section. It had been about the Muggle Massacres of the Middle Ages, and Professor Binns had written her a permission letter as she'd needed it for her History of Magic assignment. Crouch had asked her he could read it after her, but without letting a teacher know. She'd been suspicious at first, but eventually agreed, and they'd ended up looking through the book together. They'd started discussing some of the political motives for the massacres, and the torture methods used, and whether or not that kind of treatment of Muggles was a sign of the times they were living in, or something that was part of the nature of some wizards. And then Madam Froggatt had started getting suspicious, and she'd returned the book and they'd never spoken to each other again. She was pretty sure the only reason they'd spoken in the first place was because he'd wanted the book: he couldn't have given two hoots about her. Actually, Gwen realised, tonight would be the first time she'd even seen him since the final day of term at Hogwarts almost three years before. She hoped she was right about him not remembering her. She didn't want him to have recollections of that shy, geeky girl in the library if he saw her tonight.

She finished her tea and set the mug in the sink to be washed, before heading upstairs to finish her hair.

Merlin, she couldn't wait for this night to be over.

**A/N: Sorry if this is moving too slowly. More will happen in the next chapter, I promise! Please review, it's much appreciated.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry if the first two chapters have been a bit slow and boring, but I though a bit of scene setting and character establishment was necessary. Hopefully things will pick up a bit now.**

**Disclaimer: You know what's mine and what's Ms Rowling's.**

**Chapter Three**

John Coulthard and his daughter stepped out of the fireplace into the entrance hall of Bartemius Crouch Sr.'s Buckinghamshire manor house. They were greeted by one of Crouch's house staff (_or just someone he's hired for the party?_ Gwen wondered) who offered them a glass of champagne each. John accepted but Gwen declined with a small shake of her head and a quiet, "No, thank you." She felt rude for refusing and was a little embarrassed, but she really couldn't stand the taste of alcohol. Maybe she would be seen as boring by everybody else because of it, but she'd rather that than make a fool of herself by throwing up in the attempt to drink it.

They were led to the conservatory where approximately half the guests were gathered. The French windows had been opened to allow access to the patio and the gardens, where a large marquee had been erected to allow guests to enjoy the warm summer evening outdoors. The butler left them at the entrance to the conservatory and they both surveyed the room: John looking for his wife or for their host in order to greet him, while Gwen was simply feeling intimidated at the sheer number of people who were here. Several of them had glanced in their direction to see who the new arrivals were, and she immediately felt awkward and self conscious. Not liking to be viewed as a spectacle, she tried to hide behind her father as much as possible without making it obvious that was what she was doing. She knew it was just paranoia really: none of them were seriously watching her – they'd just glanced over to see who else had arrived – but the thought that anybody had looked at her at all still made her uncomfortable. She was wondering if there was going to be anywhere at this party she could sit relatively unnoticed in the company of as few people as possible, but her thoughts were interrupted by her father suddenly proclaiming, "There's Crouch on the patio. Come on, I'll introduce you."

"Oh, um, ok Dad," she muttered shyly. She knew it would be rude not to say hello to the host when she was attending his party, but she was still frightened as hell about it. Although Crouch had had many meetings with her father recently, she'd never met him personally. He'd been to Gringotts several times over the past few weeks to discuss and review security arrangements with the senior staff, and she'd only ever seen him in the corridors on the way out or talking to the aurors stationed on each floor. From the little she'd seen of him on those occasions though, and from what was reported in the Daily Prophet, she found him incredibly intimidating. He was very impressive and very formidable – a no-nonsense, get-the-job-done-by-whatever-means-necessary sort of man, and she knew that if there was going to be any person here who would be judging her tonight it would be him. He'd see her as a plain, shy and self-conscious girl, with none of her father's wit or flair. He'd be wrong about her being unlike her father, of course, but she knew how she must come across to people. And in trying to present herself to them in a different light, she invariably made herself look like even more of a moron. And the fact that she was even more nervous about meeting Crouch than she was about normal people didn't help.

Noticing Crouch was engaged in conversation with an old wizard in formal robes and a blue suit, she tugged at her father's shoulder, "Dad, he's talking. Shouldn't we come back later?"

Her father dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand, "Oh no, that's only Gunther. He won't mind."

"Right…sure, Dad," she muttered, and followed behind him nervously.

On noticing John approaching, Crouch broke off his conversation with Gunther and held out a hand in greeting. "John, good to see you."

"And you, Barty." They shook hands, then John also shook hands with Gunther who flashed him a mischievous smile.

"How's money-making going at the minute, John?"

"Not so good, as you well know," her father replied reproachfully, then lightened his tone, "I bet you're glad you retired when you did."

"Certainly am John. I made sure to secure my fortune when I could; I'll let all you young folks take the shit now." He laughed, as did John (albeit with a slightly disapproving look on his face). Crouch didn't react at all.

"And who's this lovely young lady?" Gunther asked, indicating Gwen, who immediately blushed. She didn't like being patronised or put on the spot, and he'd just managed to do both.

"Gunther, Barty, this is my daughter, Gwen. She's also working at Gringotts now." They both eyed her as if passing judgement, and she wished she could just throw on an invisibility cloak and hide. Instead, she managed a quiet, "Pleased to meet you," and shook hands with both of them. Another thing that made her even more uncomfortable was that she was several inches shorter than both of them: a five foot five girl surrounded by six foot men. It did nothing to help her confidence.

Crouch looked as if he was about to say something to her, when Gunther burst out with, "Merlin's beard! Is that Alfonso Pembroke? Nobody told me he would be here."

The three of them turned to look in the same direction as Gunther, who was staring at a large man with a grey mane of hair standing in the marquee, seemingly in conversation with two witches.

Gwen watched as Crouch slowly closed his eyes then opened them again, as if trying not to lose his temper. When he spoke, he did so through gritted teeth. "Yes, Gunther, that is indeed Alfonso Pembroke. You'll recall that he and my father were good friends."

"Well, I best go see him!" Gunther declared loudly enough to turn a few heads, "See if he's got those three thousand galleons he owes me yet," and he strode off in the direction of the marquee. Both John and Crouch stared after him, while Gwen was more interested in gauging those two's reactions. She noticed her father looked rather concerned, whereas Crouch seemed both angry and thoughtful, as if trying to decide how he should deal with Gunther.

"Perhaps I should just go and make sure he doesn't…um, start anything," her father offered, gesturing in Gunther's direction.

"Yes, John, that would be much appreciated," Crouch said in the manner of someone trying hard to remain calm.

Her father headed off after Gunther, and Gwen wasn't sure if she should take that to mean she was supposed to follow him or not. If something was going to kick off she didn't want to get caught up in it, but nor did she want to be left alone with Crouch. Her indecision lasted long enough for Crouch to seemingly calm down and brush the issue of Gunther to one side, and just as she decided she might go after her father after all, Crouch spoke to her. "So, you're working at Gringotts now then as well, are you? Commercial investment like your father, is it?"

"Oh..uh…" she hadn't been expecting him to talk to her, and ended up panicking a little when she realised she was supposed to answer. "No, I'm in market management. It's on the third floor."

"Not quite at the same level as John yet, then?"

"No, not yet."

"But you will be."

She wasn't sure if that was a question or not, so just mumbled a rather pathetic, "Umm…yeah, I suppose," in response.

He frowned, and she felt her face redden. It was obvious from his expression that he thought she was an idiot.

"Did you want the job, or are you just in it because of your father?"

"I'm sorry…?" That question took her by surprise. It was completely at odds with what she thought he must have been thinking.

"Well, would you have chosen it if your father wasn't also a banker?"

"I've, um, never really thought about it."

He nodded, which only confused her more. "Well, maybe you should think about it a little more. Investment bankers aren't necessarily what the wizarding world needs right now." She was about to ask what made him say that, when he suddenly fixed his gaze on a spot behind her and spoke out in an admonishing tone. "Barty. Good of you to join us."

She turned round to see a sandy haired youth who appeared to have been heading to the entrance to marquee, but now turned to glare out at Crouch. She recognised him immediately, of course, and her stomach squirmed. She was always nervous around strangers, but around old schoolmates doubly so.

Crouch Jr. began to walk towards them, replying in a tone to match the disdainful look on his face. "Well, I thought that if I stayed upstairs too long you might actually start to miss me."

Crouch Sr. glared disapprovingly at his son, "You've missed the arrival of most of our guests now."

Arriving at his father's side, Crouch Jr. gave him a defiant look. "Well, it's not like you really needed me to be here for that, is it?"

For a moment Crouch Sr. looked as if he might start berating his son further, but then decided it would be best to save it for later. "Well, let's not dwell on it right now, Barty. You may as well meet Gwyneth. This is John Coulthard's daughter."

_It's Gwen, _she thought, but was too shy to correct him.

"It's good to see you again, Gwen," he said, and before she'd barely had time to be shocked at him remembering her name, he'd grabbed hold of her right hand and planted a kiss on the back of it. She immediately tensed up and blushed bright red. She didn't know if he was doing it to be courteous, flirtatious, or just to piss off his father (in which case he certainly seemed to be succeeding) but she did know it felt incredibly awkward. Or at least it did to her. He, on the other hand, seemed to quite enjoy the effect it had on her and grinned.

"I…uh…I'm surprised you remember me," she spluttered.

He laughed, "I'm hardly likely to forget the only girl in school who got better NEWT results than me, am I?"

His response made her blush redder than ever. She'd never really thought of it as being _better _results than what he had. The only reason she'd got one more NEWT than him was because History of Magic was split into Modern History and Classical Mythology. They'd both been top of the year. The only difference was people had actually cared when he'd achieved great results. Most of them hadn't even known who she was.

Crouch Jr.'s response had seemed to annoy his father as well, who now seemed to swing from criticising his son to trying to promote him. "Oh, come now, Barty. It was a mere technicality, you told me. She didn't get _better _results than you."

Crouch Jr. rolled his eyes, "Father, it's simple. Gwen got better results because she took harder NEWTs than me." That wasn't exactly true. Gwen suspected he was only saying it to irritate his father, and she really wished he wouldn't. She felt like she was being used to score points in a father-son power game that really had nothing to do with her.

"I wouldn't say Muggle Studies was a particularly hard subject. It can't be that difficult to understand how electricity works," Crouch Sr. responded.

Gwen supposed she should have been upset by that. Strangely, she wasn't. She just wondered whether Crouch was saying it for the sake of disagreeing with everything his son said, or because he was determined to prove to other people how smart his son was. Most likely both.

"Actually, most of the course was about the muggle political system," Gwen said quietly, thinking out loud more than anything, and when Crouch raised an eyebrow at her she immediately blushed and wished she'd stayed silent.

Crouch looked down at her with a slight frown on his face. "Really? And that's harder than electricity?" He sounded sceptical.

She supposed that if she tried contradicting herself now it would only make her look stupid. "I'd say a bi-cameral Parliament and the First-Past-The-Post voting system are harder to explain than the concept of electron flow, yes."

The elder Crouch scowled, while the younger one smirked.

Suddenly, there was the sound of shouting off to Gwen's left, and the three of them turned to stare at the marquee where something finally seemed to have erupted between Gunther and Alfonso. Without even glancing at either his son or Gwen, Crouch Sr. stormed off towards the marquee, muttering something that sounded like, "No bloody manners."

Barty Crouch Jr. turned to Gwen and grinned. "I think you've upset him."

**A/N: Aaaargh! It is so difficult to write both of them together when they've both got the same name! I think from now on I'll have to refer to Senior as Bartemius and Junior as Barty. That will hopefully work. Also, when I said things will pick up a bit, I suppose I meant they'll be more talking. Quite a lot of that to come next chapter too, but hopefully it was interesting talking ****.**

**Please review! If this story is indeed boring, do tell me, because I am worried I'm putting way too much rambling on in and not getting to the point of the story. Also, can I please have feedback on Gwen as a character. Is she too boring? Too inconsistent? This is my first fanfic and I don't want to make a hash of it, so I welcome constructive criticism. **

**Thanks for reading this far, now please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: On we go with chapter 4, although this story isn't really moving as quickly as I would've liked.**

**Disclaimer: You know what's mine and what's Ms Rowling's.**

**Chapter Four**

_Suddenly, there was the sound of shouting off to Gwen's left, and the three of them turned to stare at the marquee where something finally seemed to have erupted between Gunther and Alfonso. Without even glancing at either his son or Gwen, Crouch Sr. stormed off towards the marquee, muttering something that sounded like, "No bloody manners."_

_Barty Crouch Jr. turned to Gwen and grinned. "I think you've upset him."_

Gwen suddenly looked rather shocked and panicked, "What? Me?"

Barty looked at her horrified expression and laughed, "No, not you, you idiot. I was just poking fun."

"Oh." Embarassed, Gwen stared at the floor. That was obvious actually, now that she thought about it, so why had she acted so ridiculously?

"Don't worry about it. I'm the one that's upset him," Barty said, although he sounded more pleased with himself than as if he was trying to make her feel better.

She frowned at him, "You _like _upsetting your father?"

He shrugged, "If it gets his attention. You surely do the same with your dad sometimes?"

The question took her by surprise. It seemed like a strange thing to ask as she didn't suppose it was normal for children to deliberately pick fights with their parents. Then she supposed it probably was. She herself had never really had a rebellious teenage phase where she argued with everything her parents said, although she suspected she was unusual in that respect. She didn't know if Barty was unusual in still behaving this way now he was twenty, but she thought he probably wasn't. In reply to his question she gave a shake of her head, "No, I never upset my parents like that on purpose."

He raised an eyebrow sceptically, "Really?"

She nodded, but it was obvious he didn't believe her.

"But I was told you're working with your dad now. How on earth do you manage not to argue with him?"

"Well, we're not even in the same department and he works different hours to me. I barely see him."

Barty laughed, "Want to swap jobs? That sounds better than having that uptight git just down the corridor from me at the Ministry."

She was shocked he could talk about his father like that, but given the way she'd just seen them treat each other she supposed she shouldn't be surprised. "You're at the Ministry now?"

He nodded, "Father got me an internship with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement after I'd left school. It was only meant to last a year but since I'd 'done such a good job'" – he put the 'done such a good job' part in air quotes, and Gwen wondered why – "they decided to keep me on."

"You don't think you did a good job?"

"Not particularly. You wouldn't do a very good job either if you hated what you were being asked to do. Most of it was just filing legal papers: I never got to do any proper work. The only reason they let me stay on was to please my father, but I don't want to be there any longer than necessary. I'll be leaving as soon as something better comes along."

"Like what?"

He gave her a look that clearly showed he thought she was being too nosy, and she blushed and looked at the floor. "Like something interesting," he said cryptically.

Their conversation was interrupted by someone – the large, grey haired wizard called Alfonso – barging past them in the direction of the house. He was followed by two more wizards and a witch who seemed to be telling him to calm down. As they entered the house Barty snickered, although Gwen couldn't see what was so funny. On the other side of them, there was another group of people just exiting the marquee, who seemed to be trying to get Gunther to calm down as well. Gwen heard Crouch's voice above the noise, "Gunther, if the pair of you can't behave like adults I'll have to ask both of you to leave."

"Well, why don't we go inside and sort this out?" Gunther said huffily, and for a second time Gwen and Barty found they were being barged past by a group of people heading for the house. Crouch Sr. walked past them without even seeming to notice his son, then glanced back and crossed to Barty to speak to him quietly. "While I'm sorting this out, you're acting host. Just make sure you take care of the guests and don't, for Merlin's sake, upset anyone."

"Yes, father," Barty said with a roll of his eyes that suggested he couldn't care less.

Crouch glared at him, then turned away to follow Gunther into house.

Gwen was about to ask why Barty's mother couldn't be acting host, but she was interrupted by someone saying her name. "Ah Gwen, you're here."

Gwen turned to see a tall witch with dark brown hair and oval glasses heading towards them. She had a slightly questioning and disapproving look on her face, and Gwen realised her mother must have noticed she wasn't wearing the dress. "Hello, Mum," she said quietly.

Her mother gave her a pinched smile. "I see you've met Barty already."

Barty gave her a nod, "Good evening, Christine."

Slightly confused, Gwen wondered why the pair seemed to know each other, then remembered they worked in the same department at the Ministry.

"Has Gwen been telling you all about investment banking?" Christine asked.

Barty looked bored. "Not really."

"Well, that's funny because her and her father don't seem to know how to talk about anything else." Her mother laughed, but Barty seemed completely disinterested.

The situation felt incredibly awkward, and Gwen was relieved when Barty excused himself. "Well, it was nice seeing you both, but with my father gone and must go and see to the other guests," and he headed off in the direction of the marquee. Gwen realised he must have even less enthusiasm for talking to her mother than he did for doing what his father asked him to.

After he'd disappeared underneath the veranda her mother turned back to her with a glare, "You're not wearing the dress."

Gwen gave a small shuffle and stared at the floor. "It didn't fit."

"Oh come on, I'm sure you could adjust it."

"I tried. It didn't work."

Christine rolled her eyes as if that was the worst excuse she'd ever heard. "I cannot believe that my daughter with eight O's at NEWT can't even adjust a dress."

"Well, the colour was wrong anyway." That was a lame excuse, and Gwen knew it.

Her mother sighed, "I don't get it Gwen. Don't you want to look nice?"

"I look nicer in this than I did in that," Gwen said with a scowl.

"Gwen, you dress like someone twice your age."

"I don't care." _I dress how I want to, _Gwen thought, and she suddenly felt angry.

"Well, maybe you should care. Nice young men like Barty aren't going to want to talk to you if you dress like their mothers."

Now that most definitely made her angry. "Mum, that…that doesn't even…that's got nothing to do with anything!" and she too stormed off towards the marquee.

**A/N: This party was only ever meant to last one chapter! It looks like I'm dragging it out for three. Oh well, I hope it's long in a good sense and not a bad one. Thanks for reading. Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Well, I am back from London now and I had a bit more time for writing yesterday, so here is chapter five.**

**Disclaimer: Most of the characters and settings are on indefinite loan from J K Rowling.**

**Chapter Five**

Inside the marquee several long tables had been set up buffet-style to hold plates of food and glasses of wine. Gwen hadn't eaten anything since the cheese tart her mother (who she didn't want to think about) had bought her earlier, and she suddenly felt hungry. She crossed to one of the tables and picked up a plate which she began to fill with food. She was just reaching across for a slice of quiche when she heard a voice speak just inches from her ear.

"I thought you didn't upset your parents."

She jumped and almost dropped the plate of food, but stopped herself just in time. Turning round she saw the smirking face of Bartemius Crouch Jr. very close to her own, and backed off a little. "I don't. Not deliberately, anyway," she muttered defensively.

"Then what was all that about?"

"I uh…well, she bought me a dress and I didn't wear it." It was embarrassing having to talk about this with him.

"So you didn't deliberately choose not to wear the dress?"

He had a point. "It didn't suit me."

Barty looked her up and down as if to say, _and that one does? _She felt even more self conscious having him look at her like that. "The other one was worse."

He shrugged, as if he wasn't really bothered one way or the other. "If you say so."

She'd noticed the two of them were the only people at the party under the age of thirty, and she wondered where his friends were. "Are any of your friends from Hogwarts here?"

He gave her a funny look, "Why would they be here?"

The way he said it made her feel stupid for asking. "I thought you might want to…well, invite them."

He laughed, "As if my father would let me have a say in the guest list! Not that I'd invite them if I did, though; I've got no interest in seeing those tossers again."

"Why not?"

"There weren't interested in being my friends because they liked _me, _you know. They were just interested in getting themselves well connected. For all I care they can go fuck themselves, the pillocks."

She was surprised by how colourful his language was when his father wasn't around. "Oh."

There was an awkward silence following that, during which they both listened to a conversation that was going on nearby.

"…_James and Lily, they have to move them again."_

"_Where are they now?"_

"_You know I can't tell you that. But they're as safe as you could expect given the circumstances."_

"_Well, who…?"_

"_Shhh! If Mad-Eye finds out we've been talking about this he'll kill us…"_

"Talking about the Potters. You remember them?" Barty said to break the silence between him and Gwen.

"They were a few years above us, weren't they?"

"Yeah, but surely you must remember them though. Particularly James, he had a bit of a reputation."

"I remember he made me cry once."

Gwen didn't think it was funny, but Barty laughed. In fact, he seemed to be laughing _at _her. "Seriously? None of his pranks were _that _bad."

"I was eleven. I'd only been at Hogwarts three weeks."

"What happened?"

"Well, this girl walked in front of a suit of armour he'd charmed to spurt ectoplasm onto the next person who walked past, and I was standing right behind her."

"Wait, so it didn't even happen to _you_?"

She knew he was making fun of her, and she blushed furiously. "It was scary! How was I supposed to know it wasn't attacking her or something? And he just stood there laughing."

"If I'd been there I'd have laughed too."

She was beginning to think she didn't like him. "That's just cruel," she muttered in response, still feeling embarassed.

He responded with a nonchalant shrug, as if the accusation of cruelty didn't bother him. "Not really. You just need to get a sense of humour."

Despite her embarassment, Gwen still felt incredibly defensive. She shot him a glare and was about to retaliate further, but they were interrupted by more shouting. This time though it wasn't from Gunther and Alfonso.

"Bloody hell, woman! What are you trying to do, poison me?"

**A/N: This party is going to come to an end. Eventually. Hope you are all enjoying the story. If you have reviewed, thank you. If not, please do - I am grateful for all feedback.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: And the party is drawing to a close, at long last. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Ms Rowling owns nearly everything.**

**Chapter Six**

"_Bloody hell, woman! What are you trying to do, poison me?"_

The sound of Mad-Eye Moody's rough voice resonated loudly over the general chatter. There was a slight hush as people turned to see what the fuss was about, and Gwen followed the sound of his voice to see him standing next to a woman holding two wine glasses.

She looked rather shocked and bewildered. "No, it's just really nice wine, Alastor. I thought you might like to try it."

He scoffed, "Try it? You don't know what's in it."

"It's just wine, Alastor…" she looked like she couldn't quite believe his reaction. Clearly she didn't know him that well.

"How do you _know _it's just wine that's in it?"

"Well, it's…it's just the same wine as in every other glass on the table."

"But have you been watching _that particular glass _from the moment it was poured to the moment you picked it up just now?"

"Erm…no." Noticing quite a few people were staring, she seemed rather embarrassed.

"Then you don't know what's in it. So no thank you, madam, I will not be drinking it." His magical eye spun manically in his head, and noticing people seemed to be watching them he suddenly rounded on everybody else. "What are you lot staring at?"

There were a few mutters of "Um…nothing," and then the general conversation resumed. Gwen felt rather uncomfortable; she understood how that woman must be feeling. _And that, _she wanted to say to her father, _is why I'm scared of him._

Barty leaned over to her and muttered in her ear. "Good job the Minister's got a sense of humour," he said, nodding at a point somewhere towards the back of the marquee.

Gwen followed his gaze, and her stomach gave a nervous lurch as she saw the Minister for Magic standing by one of the buffet tables, surrounded by three wizards who she took to be aurors. He seemed to be smiling amusedly following the incident with Moody.

"Just as well he's got used to having Moody as part of his security detail by now. That man can be hard to handle at times," Barty continued.

"Moody's here on security?"

"You really think he's the sort of person to come to a party unless there's some sort of fighting-dark-wizards thing involved?"

_Good point, _Gwen thought, but didn't say it out loud.

At that point her gaze drifted to one of the marquee's entrances and she noticed her parents walk in together. _Oh no, _she thought. She didn't particularly want to be with either of them right now. If she was, she'd probably end up being pressured into meeting the Minister for Magic, and she'd really rather not make a fool of herself in front of him.

"Erm, Barty…sorry, I think I just need to go outside right now," she muttered.

He'd noticed where she was looking, and gave her a knowing look. "Sure, I'll come too."

"Oh, okay." She didn't mind actually. He wasn't bad company. She still didn't think she liked him, but she didn't _dislike _him either.

The pair of them were beginning to head for one of the exits, when suddenly a small voice sounded from quite low down. "Master Barty! Master Barty, sir!"

Gwen looked down to see a house elf wearing a pillowcase tugging at the hem of Barty's suit jacket. Barty was looking at her too, and he seemed rather annoyed. "What is it, Winky?" he said irritably.

"It's Mrs Crouch, sir," she squeaked, seeming rather nervous, "She…well, she's…"

Barty's expression of annoyance turned to one of worry. "What's wrong, Winky?"

"I don't know, sir. She sent Winky to find Mr Crouch, but he is busy sir, so Winky has come to fetch Master Barty, instead."

"Alright, Winky," Barty said, and then turned to Gwen, "I'm sorry, Gwen, but I really have to go."

She was just saying, "Alright, I'll see you…" but he had already set off in the direction of the house with the house elf following behind him.

The Mrs Crouch the house elf was referring to must be his mother, she realised, and she wondered what was wrong with her. Unlike her husband, Elizabeth Crouch was rarely seen in the public eye and Gwen knew very little about her. She was just pondering the situation further when somebody tapped her on the shoulder. Turning round, she realised it was her father.

"Finally found you again, Gwen," he said. "You seem to be getting on rather well with young Mr Crouch this evening, from what your mother tells me."

"He _is _the only other person here my age, Dad."

"After everything you were saying about him though, I got the impression you didn't like him."

"He's alright, I suppose."

Her mother suddenly spoke to her, her tone rather cold. Gwen could tell she was still angry. "So do you want to go and meet the Minister, then?"

Gwen responded rather awkwardly, "Not really."

"Fine," her mother said abruptly, before turning away from her daughter to pick up another glass of wine.

John seemed to realise there was some hostility between them, but chose not to comment on it. "Oh, come on Gwen. You might not get another chance like this."

"Why would he be interested in meeting me?"

"He will be. It's the job of politicians to meet people."

She shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of resignation. "Oh, alright."

-oOo-

It hadn't been a bad evening she supposed, on reflection. Meeting the Minister hadn't been that much of a nightmare ordeal, more of a _hello-how-do-you-do?-move-on-to-the-next-in-the-queue _sort of affair. She hadn't seen Barty for the rest of the evening, and to her surprise she was slightly disappointed about that. But she was supposed it was more due to the lack of company of anyone her own age than anything to do with the man himself. She'd only seen Crouch Sr. once more just as they were leaving, and he seemed rather irritable and glad to see the guests go. Gunther and Alfonso had calmed down eventually, but they'd rather spoiled the atmosphere of the evening. All in all, it had been just another rather tedious party, and she was glad it was over. She was however still upset about the tension between her and her mother. She didn't like being in conflict with her parents, but in this case she thought her mother was just as much to blame as she was. Christine had gone to bed that night without saying goodnight to her. Gwen had gone to bed that night trying not to cry.

She would've been late for work the following day if it hadn't been for her dad getting her out of bed, which she was grateful for. Her mother left for work without speaking to her, and Gwen sat at the breakfast table in silence, resolutely determined not to start spilling tears into her cornflakes. It didn't make it any better that she had that meeting with the XD of Transatlantic Owls later, either. Things looked set up to be an absolutely shit day.

She arrived at work feeling rather tired and miserable that morning, and collected her papers for that day from Semog's office in silence. She had an application for investment to process from a Dutch company called Desdinova Dark Detectors, and she was expected to produce a report on them in time for a meeting with one of their representatives in a fortnight. In a way, she was quite glad that it would give her something to do to take her mind off things, but really she'd rather just stay at home in bed all day and cry. _All this because of my mother, _she thought, _Gwen, stop being so pathetic! _Still though, there was a bright side, the optimistic part of her mind told her: at least she wasn't hung over.

It was almost eleven o'clock when she received the unexpected knock on her office door, and she looked up in surprise. _That meeting's not until this afternoon, isn't it? _she thought, and a quick glance at the open planner on her desk told her she was right. Of course it might be Semog, coming to update her on an assignment, but he never knocked. "It's open," she called out, wondering who on earth in could be.

The door opened a crack and a familiar face poked his head round. Her stomach lurched.

"Gwen, hi," he said, "Can I come in?"

**A/N: Guess who? Sorry, don't mean to be a tease :P Hoped you liked! If so, please leave a review. If not, you're welcome to leave a review too.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Here it is. Hope you like.**

**Disclaimer: Yes, I am J K Rowling and own everything. I wish.**

**Chapter Seven**

_The door opened a crack and a familiar face poked his head round. Her stomach lurched._

"_Gwen, hi," he said, "Can I come in?"_

"Barty? Um, yeah, sure. Have a seat." Surprised and a little flustered, she began clearing space on the desk so there'd be nothing obstructing him when he sat down, then wondered why she was doing that when he didn't even have anything to put on the desk. He sat down in the chair opposite her and she watched him intently, waiting for him to speak.

"I just came in to say sorry for leaving you like that last night," he began, "It must have been pretty awkward being the youngest person there by at least ten years."

_Yes, it was pretty awkward, _she thought, _but has he seriously come in just to tell me that? _Still though, she had to admit it was rather nice of him. "It wasn't too bad."

"I hoped you'd be alright, but I thought I perhaps owed you an explanation. It's just that my mother's ill and she took a turn for the worse last night, right in the middle of things."

_That explains a lot, _thought Gwen, but decided to respond with a rather glib, "Oh no, I'm sorry."

If he thought she sounded insincere he brushed it off. "Don't worry, a healer came round to see her and she's alright. She's been on and off with it for quite a while now but she didn't feel up to going to the party. Winky was supposed to be looking after her, but when she got worse, well, that was when I had to leave."

Gwen nodded understandingly. That must be a tough situation for him to be in, but she still couldn't believe that was the only reason he'd come to see her. Another thought had also occurred to her. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

He seemed rather taken aback by that, and she realised how insensitive that must have seemed given what he'd just revealed to her, and blushed. Once he seemed to have gotten over the apparent shock of being asked the question though, he responded quite casually. "We do have lunch breaks, you know."

She raised an eyebrow. "At eleven o' clock in the morning?"

He laughed. "Tell me about it. They always give me the worst slots for lunch so they don't have to do it."

She smiled at that, but then decided to cut to the chase. "Barty," she said seriously, "What's the real reason you're here?"

He sighed, and looked slightly reluctant to tell her, but it was as if he had no choice. "Well, I do actually need some advice. Financial advice."

She frowned. That didn't make sense. There was no way the Crouch family was short on money. "What do you mean?"

"You deal with speculation, and all that stuff right?"

She nodded.

"Well, would there be a way for me to buy shares in stuff and channel the profits into my private bank account?"

She gave him a suspicious look. "What for? Is your father…?"

"This has nothing to do with my father!" he snapped, suddenly angry. "Look, if you're just interested in all the whats and wherefores and whys maybe I shouldn't have come after all."

She immediately regretted upsetting him. She'd already fallen out with her mother and she didn't want to pick fights with him too. _Gwen, why can't you just keep your nose out?_

He was getting up to leave angrily, but desperate not to let him go she reached out and grabbed his left forearm. "Barty, wait."

Almost like a reflex, he jerked it away from her so that the material of his robes slid through her fingers. That had been rather more violent than necessary, she thought, but she supposed it was her fault for upsetting him.

"Look, I'm sorry," she stammered, "I should have minded my own business, but I do want to help. What kind of advice do you need?"

Seeming to calm down, he sat back down in the chair. "Could you manage to make me money on the markets? Buy shares on my behalf?"

She spoke slowly as she considered her answer. "In the current climate you wouldn't make much. You'd be more likely to face an initial loss before you started making anything half decent."

"But it's doable, right?"

"It's doable, although the bank usually takes a share of the profits."

"How big a share?"

"It's a sliding scale, depends on how big they are."

He nodded. "Alright. Do you think you could do that for me? Get it set up as soon as possible?"

She was completely bewildered as to why she was being asked to do this, but nodded. "I can probably get it arranged by the end of tomorrow."

He looked relieved. "Thank you, Gwen. And my father can't know, right?"

This aroused her suspicions even further, but she supposed he had his reasons and they were no nothing to do with her. "He won't find out from us. It's your bank account. It's got nothing to do with him."

"Alright, thank you. Now I do need to get back to work." He got up and headed to the door, but paused once his hand was on the door handle. "Gwen, I'm sorry I got mad at you. It's just… well, there are some things going on at the moment and…"

She shook her head to dismiss him. "No, it's fine."

She noticed his tongue dart out to lick his lips. _Nervous? _she wondered. _Why's he nervous? _When he replied however he seemed completely calm. "Good. I expect I'll be seeing you again, then," and he opened the door and left, leaving Gwen standing there utterly confused and bewildered. She wondered if this was something to do with his mother. _Or something else entirely._

Either way, it was none of her business.

She gathered up her papers and continued to get some last minute preparation done for her meeting this afternoon.

**A/N: I suspect some of you have worked out what's going on. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'd like to ask you all a favour. Could you suggest what the wizarding equivalent of Wall Street or the City of London might be called? I think it'd be nice to use it in a future chapter. Thank you to all my reviewers! Feedback from everybody else is appreciated as well.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: My first consecutive-day-update for a while. I'm going to give blood later, which may turn out badly since I'm prone to rather bad anaemia. If I end up fainting I won't be able to write this afternoon, which will annoy me immensely, so I'm posting this now. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Same still applies from all previous chapters.**

**Chapter Eight**

When Gwen got home that evening it was to the smell of freshly baked brownies coming from the kitchen. She loved her mother's brownies, and the scent made her feel better following that atrocious meeting earlier in the afternoon. Then she remembered her mother wasn't talking to her, and immediately felt miserable again.

She was going to just head upstairs without saying a word, but as she approached the foot of the stairs her mother appeared at the kitchen door and spoke. "Hello, Gwen. Good day at work?"

Her tone was friendly, and Gwen turned to face her, hoping their argument was forgotten about. "Yeah, it was alright, thanks." _No point telling the truth, _she thought, _that wouldn't make things any better._

"Good. I've baked some brownies, if you want one."

"Um, yeah. Thanks Mum." Gwen changed direction and instead headed for the kitchen, where she placed her briefcase down by the table and her work robes on the back of a chair before accepting a brownie off of the plate her mum was offering her.

Just as she took a bite, her mum started speaking again. "I've taken the dress back to the shop."

Gwen stiffened a little and wanted to say something, but her mouth was full of brownie. No doubt that was her mother's intention.

"Look, I'm sorry I got mad at you for not wearing it. I shouldn't have bought it you without asking if you liked it first."

Gwen swallowed in order to respond, "No, Mum, it's fine. I'm sorry I was so rude by not wearing it."

"It's okay honey. I just don't like falling out with you, and I probably overreacted. Can we just forget about it now?"

Feeling so much better already, Gwen smiled. "Yes, please let's do that."

"Okay sweetheart." Her mum went to give her a hug, but Gwen only awkwardly tried to half return it.

"Careful Mum, I'm still holding this rather sticky brownie."

"Of course, sorry."

Her mother then went back to the oven where she was preparing something, while Gwen sat down at the table to watch her mother cook. Gwen thought her mum really was an excellent cook, whereas she herself could barely reheat a can of beans. That was part of the reason she hadn't moved out yet.

"I'm doing broccoli and stilton bake for tea," her mother informed her.

"Shouldn't we have had that _before _eating brownies?" Gwen said with a small laugh.

"Probably, but there's still plenty left for afterwards."

There were a few moments of silence as Gwen watched her mother inspect whatever was in the oven, and then went back to washing the potatoes. Once she had done that, she jabbed her wand at the potato peeler to set if off peeling, then came to join her daughter at the kitchen table.

"Mr Crouch asked me for a favour today," Christine said.

_It's been a day of Crouches asking favours, _thought Gwen, but she didn't want to talk about it with her mother. Barty seemed particularly keen for nobody to know, so she wasn't going to tell them. "Did he?"

"Yeah, he wants me to increase my hours. He's asked if I can do the nine-six shift instead of eight-two."

Gwen frowned. She didn't much like the idea of coming home to an empty house each day while both her parents were still at work. "Do we really need the money?"

"Of course not, but it's not about the money Gwen. It's about helping to catch You-Know-Who's supporters. Things are getting really bad and they need as many people on call in the department as possible. We all need to do our bit."

Gwen nodded, "Ok, that makes sense."

"I hope you don't mind."

"No, it's fine." She did mind, but she knew it was just selfish of her to want her mother to be at home when she was doing such an important job for the wizarding community at work.

"I'm glad it's alright with you, sweetheart," her mother said, then went back to supervising the potatoes.

-oOo-

Gwen was glad to be back on speaking terms with her mother, and the rest of the evening had passed rather pleasantly. The broccoli and stilton bake had been delicious, and then they had all had brownies and ice cream for pudding (which her father had insisted on double helpings of) and Gwen went to bed that night feeling much better than she had that morning.

There was still one thing that was preventing her from getting to sleep though, and that was the thought of Barty Crouch Jr. Well, not so much _him, _she told herself, but what he might be up to. In her mind she was going through all the possible scenarios that could lead to him wanting to make money, but none of them seemed to fit. His father obviously wasn't having monetary problems, as Barty had insisted Crouch Sr. couldn't find out. Maybe he was wanting to start his own business to try and break away from his family's legacy, but if that was the case he probably would have been up front about it and told her straight. Maybe it _was _just a making-money-for-the-sake-of-getting-rich thing, although she couldn't see why he would want to do that since he was already rich. And if it was about independence, then surely he'd want to be doing the opposite of keeping it secret from his father?

Try as she might she couldn't understand it, and the more she told herself it was none of her business the more desperate she was to know. She was trying hard not to think about it, and instead concentrated on other things. _Like how nice it was of Barty to trust me with something like that, _she thought, and all her speculation about what could be going on flooded into her mind again. Why was it so hard not to think of him? She never had this trouble with other clients.

Eventually though, after several hours of tossing and turning and trying to find something else to think about, she drifted off into a sleep filled with dreams of speculation on the chocolate brownie market and her mother congratulating her on her promotion to Head of the Department of Mysteries.

**A/N: A little short, but really this is just a filler chapter. I'm not letting you on to what's happening that easily! (Although some of you can probably guess.) Hope you enjoyed, please review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Updated A/N 30/12/12: This really needs a rewrite to actually make sense with how stock sales work, but I'm still struggling to wrap my head round it so it may take a while. Economics and finance are not my strong point so I'm bluffing my way through most of this.  
**

**Disclaimer: Mostly not mine etc.**

**Chapter Nine**

It was four days before Gwen saw Barty again, and this time she was slightly less surprised when he turned up in her office without an appointment on Monday afternoon.

He smiled at her, "Hi Gwen, how are things going?"

She smiled back. "Good, thanks."

"I meant with my banking."

_Of course he did. _She glanced down at the piece of parchment on her desk that was constantly being updated. "Your stock value's gone up twelve sickles and three knuts."

She looked back up at him, and he seemed disappointed. "Is that all?"

"I only got this set up on Friday. You can't expect to make a huge amount yet. There isn't enough money in your account for you to start taking huge risks at the moment, but once you can invest more you can start making more."

He nodded thoughtfully, "How long will that take?"

"Give it a few months. This is a long term thing."

He seemed disappointed, but accepting of the fact he couldn't do anything about it. "Okay."

"If you're just here for an update on how things are going, that's pretty much all there is to report. I can give you a balance card though, it'll keep you updated on how much you've made." She opened a drawer in her desk and handed him a white rectangle of card.

He examined it. "It's blank."

"You have to take it to one of the goblins downstairs to activate it, and they'll synchronise it to your account. Your balance and shares you've bought will show up on it sort of like a mini version of that wall over there." She pointed to her left, and he looked to where all the market information was being written out in blue and red. "It's synchronised with the ticker tape on Fisk Alley, so you can keep up to date."

"Ok, thanks."

"Anything else I can help you with?" she was hoping for some kind of insight into what he was doing all this for, but was doubtful she would get one.

"Actually, yes." He then paused for a moment as if considering something, then continued. "Well, you know the kids have gone back to Hogwarts today. Well, my father's travelling up to Scotland this weekend for a meeting with Dumbledore to review Hogwarts security. The healer suggested my mother might benefit from a change of scenery so she's going with him."

She wondered why on earth he was telling her this. Was he looking for sympathy? She supposed she could give him that. "Poor you. I hate being in the house on my own for long periods. I get really lonely without my parents around."

He looked at her as if she'd completely missed the point. "Well, I suppose that's what I'm trying to say."

"Huh?"

"Gwen, I'm asking if you'd like to come round to mine this weekend."

"Oh." She blushed, and her immediate reaction was 'no'. Nobody had ever asked her something like that and she hadn't been expecting it. Then she thought that just because nobody had asked her before, it was no reason to say no now. She might even enjoy it.

"Umm, yeah. Okay."

"Great. So I'll see you about six pm on Saturday, by floo?"

"Yeah, sure."

He got up to leave. "I look forward to it."

"Me too." Did she mean that? She didn't have much time to think about it before he was out the door, leaving her feeling both rather nervous and rather flattered. It was certainly going to be an experience for her: she hadn't spent the night away from her parents' house with somebody else since Hogwarts. Although she suspected – and hoped – that this time was going to be rather different to that. She was surprised to find out that actually she _was _looking forward to it. Although she had no idea how she was going to explain this to her parents.

**A/N: Okay, I've come up with the name for the financial district as Fisk Alley. Diagon Alley = diagonally; Knockturn Alley = nocturnally; Fisk Alley = fiscally (ie. relating to money). So what do you think? Is it okay or too contrived?**

**I don't know if twelve sickles and three knuts is a realistic amount for stock to go up by in three days or not (let's assume he spent fifty galleons? Uh, I'm so bad at this...). Since this is set in the eighties and I don't know the dollar/galleon exchange rate, I'm just going to assume it is. Sorry if it was a bit short, the next chapter will definitely be longer. **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Um...did I make it clear he's invited her for the duration of the weekend? *scans last chapter* I don't think I did, did I? Damn, I've made it a little ambiguous. Well, just to be clear he's invited her to stay overnight Saturday evening/Sunday morning.**

**Sorry for the delayed update. I started writing this on Saturday morning but I felt _really _ill and was in bed all day. Donating blood doesn't agree with me it seems. I kept nearly blacking out everytime I tried doing anything, so I gave up trying to write and just spent the afternoon sleeping. After I recovered from that I had a visit day to attend at the University of Kent, so I couldn't write for a couple of days. I eventually got round to finishing this though, and I've made it an extra long chapter to compensate for the delay. Hope you enjoy!**

**Warnings for some sexual content this chapter. Nothing explicit (I would like to keep my 'T' rating) but if it bothers you there's a part towards the end of this chapter you might want to skip (from the second –oOo- to 'They were interrupted by...').**

**Disclaimer: Gwen and her family are mine. Everything else is JKR's.**

**Chapter Ten**

Her parents took it much better than she'd expected, actually. Her father seemed quite pleased for her, but if he was glad, her mother was practically ecstatic.

"Oh, it's great you've finally started taking an interest in boys," Christine gushed, "This makes him your first boyfriend!"

"_Second _boyfriend," Gwen corrected, "And in fact, no Mum, he's _not _even my boyfriend."

"Gwen, if he's invited you round to his house for the weekend, he's your boyfriend."

"Mum, just because he's invited me round to his house it doesn't mean anything's going to happen."

Her mother sighed, "Gwen, you are so naïve."

"No I'm not," Gwen replied defensively.

"Yes, sweetheart, you really are."

Gwen was too embarrassed to take the conversation any further.

-oOo-

When she arrived at Barty's house on Saturday he was waiting for her, dressed in smart chinos and a blue long-sleeved shirt. The only kind of greeting he gave her was a "Gwen, welcome," and a pat on the arm, which relieved her immensely. She'd have hated it to have been anything more physical and then have her mother ask questions about it later.

She'd arrived in the entrance hall again – which seemed strangely smaller now that it wasn't set up for a party – and he led her through to the main living room where there was a cream sofa and two chairs surrounding an oak coffee table. She sat down on the sofa, which she found to be incredibly squashy as she sank down into the cushions. Barty remained standing. "Can I get you a drink?" he offered, his tone incredibly formal.

"Tea would be nice, thank you."

"Milk and sugar?" he asked stiffly.

"Milk no sugar."

"Right." He headed off to the kitchen, leaving her sitting there feeling slightly awkward. She thought he'd invited her as a friend, but now he was behaving as if this was some formal occasion. It was five minutes before he returned with the cup of tea – in fact with a tray carrying a cup, saucer, tea pot, tea strainer and pot of milk. _Overdoing it just slightly, _she thought.

He sat down in the chair opposite her and she noticed he hadn't made himself a drink. She felt like she'd inconvenienced him for even asking in the first place. "Thank you, but you really didn't have to go out of your way like that. Just the cup of tea would have been nice."

"I'm just trying to do what the house elf would have done."

Gwen suddenly realised she hadn't seen the house elf since arriving. "Where is she?"

"Well, father's taken her with him, hasn't he? Merlin knows why; it's not like Hogwarts hasn't got dozens of house elves if he needed one. So I'm making do on my own, which means that if the cooking is crap later, I do apologise."

She smiled at that and relaxed a little. He seemed less stiff and formal now. Maybe he'd just been nervous? It seemed rather strange and alien to her, the thought that he could've been nervous at the prospect of her visiting him. "Don't worry about it; you can't possibly be a worse cook than me."

"I probably am. Hope you don't mind soggy pasta."

She gave a slight chuckle, "I love pasta of all kinds."

"Looks like we'll be alright then."

The atmosphere became at lot more relaxed after that, and she felt quite comfortable talking to him about her job and Hogwarts and the article on Dutch Argentite that had been in the _Daily Prophet _the day before. She tried bringing up the topic of his financial investments again, but he avoided giving her any more detail as to what he was up to, and she wasn't brave enough to ask about it directly. Despite that, they talked companionably for over an hour before Barty got up to start preparing dinner, and he led her through to the dining room before disappearing into the kitchen to work on the pasta. She noticed there was a bottle of red wine on the table in between the two places he'd set facing opposite each other, and she became worried about how she was going to tell him she couldn't drink it. _He'll either think I'm weird, or rude, or both. _But if it made her sick then he'd probably think even worse.

When he came back in carrying the dishes of pasta he looked quite pleased with himself. "I had to charm off some of the excess water and I think carbonara sauce is supposed to have more ham in it, but it should be edible."

"It smells great."

"You're just saying that."

_No point denying it, _Gwen thought, but it didn't exactly smell bad either. She watched as he unstoppered the wine bottle and was about to start pouring her some, but she thought she ought to stop him. "Oh, no Barty. Thanks, but I don't drink."

He stopped to look at her with a mildly incredulous look on his face. "Seriously?"

She blushed, "Yeah, I just really…well, don't like it."

He looked surprised for a moment longer, then shrugged as if it was of no importance. "Okay. If you're not, I'm not either." He put the stopper back on the bottle and pushed it to one side before sitting down opposite her.

Gwen felt rather bad about it. "Oh no, don't feel like you can't drink it because of me. It's fine. I don't mind."

"But then I'd be the one feeling bad about it." He noticed she seemed quite distressed, and gave her a friendly smile. "Gwen, just relax. We'll have lemonade instead. You _do _like lemonade?"

"Yeah, I like lemonade."

"Okay." He waved his wand over her glass so a stream of cloudy, fizzy liquid poured into it, then did the same to his own. "There you go." He set down his wand and then picked up his knife and fork to start eating. She looked down at the pasta then back up at him, biting her lip nervously.

"Barty?"

He looked up from his food, surprised to see she hadn't started eating yet. "What?"

"You didn't buy that wine especially for this evening, did you?" she asked, looking worried.

"No," he answered immediately, and then realised that must have come across as seeming like he hadn't cared enough to buy anything special. "Well, it's something I've been saving for a special occasion," he quickly justified, "But if you don't like it then there's no point you drinking it, is there? I'd rather save if for someone who actually wants it."

She still looked uncomfortable. "I don't mean to seem ungrateful or anything."

He sighed, wishing she'd just relax and stop getting herself worked up over something this stupid. "Honestly, Gwen, it's no problem. Now will you please start eating; I put a lot of work into that pasta and I don't want it to go cold."

She didn't reply, just quietly and rather timidly picked up her cutlery and began to eat the tagliatelle. He watched her silently for a few seconds, surprised by how shy, and quite frankly how _lifeless, _she was. She'd been like this more or less ever since she'd arrived, and it almost seemed like she didn't want to be here. Even though she'd seemed reasonably content when they were talking earlier, he didn't get the impression she was really enjoying herself. "Gwen, have I been boring you all evening?" he said quite suddenly.

She looked up, puzzled and slightly worried. "No, not at all."

"Then why are you acting like this? It's like you don't have any enthusiasm for anything."

She didn't really have anything to say to that, just mumbled, "Oh. Sorry."

He stopped eating in order to concentrate on her. "That's what I mean. If I'd said that to most other girls they'd probably have taken offense, argued with me, maybe even got really mad at me. I'd have at least got some kind of reaction. You just…sit there. Is it because of something I've done or...what?"

She looked at him, her expression apologetic. "No, it's not you at all. You've been great."

He leant across the the table to look at her thoughtfully. "Then what is it? I can't figure you out."

She stopped eating as well to look at him. It was strange having someone interested in her like this. "Well, that's just the way I am," she responded meekly, unable to offer any real explanation. He was studying her intently and she felt her cheeks begin to redden. It felt awkward to have him look at her like that.

"How can you be so passive?" he asked, seemingly intrigued by her behaviour, "After what I said to you just now you didn't even try and disagree with me, instead you just apologised for it. How can you just not react to things like that? I know I couldn't."

She was blushing, finding it embarassing the way in which he was trying to analyse her. "Well, I just don't really like getting into conflict with people if I can help it."

He continued to look at her for a few seconds before replying. "Sometimes conflict can be good," he said, as if he was trying to reason with her.

"Like when?"

"Well, say for example you were at work, and somebody tried to tell you they wanted to invest loads of money in a company that was losing hundreds of galleons a day. Wouldn't you tell them they were a fucking idiot?"

She blushed even harder at the suggestion she might say something like that to a client. "Not in those exact words."

"But you'd say something, right?" He was determined not to let this drop.

"Well, it's my job to give good advice, so…"

"Gwen, for once will you stop being so diplomatic and just say what you're really thinking."

There were a few moments of silence during which they simply stared at each other, then Gwen finally replied, "What I'm really thinking is that I'm finding this whole conversation a little uncomfortable."

He gave an exasperated sigh. "There's no need to be so polite about it," he said, sounding a little frustrated. "If I'm pissing you off then I'd rather you just got mad at me instead of trying so hard to be nice."

Despite still feeling incredibly awkward and put on the spot, Gwen couldn't help but find his behaviour both intriguing and flattering. He seemed genuinely interested in her, although she wasn't quite sure why. The idea that someone might find anything about her interesting was quite alien to her. "Well, I don't really want to get mad at you. I'm pretty sure you're not _trying _to piss me off."

As he replied the corners of his mouth turned up in a mischievous grin. "You think? It's such a challenge to get any kind of strong reaction from you that I kind of want to try."

Gwen looked at him uncertainly. "So _are _you trying to?" She wasn't sure what to make of that.

He smirked. "Maybe."

"Oh," she responded, a little stunned and not at all sure how to react. She thought he'd just been curious about her, but what he'd just admitted to was a little odd. Even odder was how he wasn't even trying to hide it, and it intrigued her just as much as she seemed to intrigue him. "Well, that's...that's not very..."

"What? Nice?" he finished for her, still smirking. "Come on, Gwen. Surely there must have been times when _you've _wanted to piss off someone just for the hell of it?"

She frowned at him. "You mean like you do with your father?" she said reproachfully.

He gave a casual shrug, as if he didn't particularly care about admitting that to her. "Yes, sometimes. It can be quite fun to annoy him."

It surprised her how ready he was to own up to it. "Well, I can honestly say that no, I have never wanted to piss off anyone - particularly my father - just for the hell of it," she responded, her tone disapproving.

He scowled in response, and she thought she might actually have irritated him with that reply. "Well, your dad doesn't seem to be a stuck up git like mine, so I suppose he's never given you much reason to," he said bitterly, before looking away from her and going back to his food.

She did as well, and they both ate a few mouthfuls in silence before Gwen tried to resume the conversation. "What exactly is it about your father that's so bad?" she asked rather timidly, sensing that this might be a sensitive subject, but she really wanted an explanation as to why he disliked his father so much. It was one of the many aspects of him she was struggling to make sense of.

Barty had taken on a rather defensive posture and seemed to be hunched over his pasta bowl in trying to avoid making eye contact with her. There was a pause of a several seconds before he responded. "The fact that if you asked him he probably wouldn't even know what my favourite Quidditch team is, or that he couldn't tell you the name of my first girlfriend or that he isn't even all that sure what subjects I took at NEWT," he answered her, with a distinct note of bitterness in his tone.

Gwen couldn't help but feel rather sorry for him once he'd said that. From what she'd seen of his workaholic father she suspected that Crouch Sr. really didn't take much of an interest in his son, and she wasn't sure how she was supposed to respond. "That is quite shit."

He looked up at her and gave a shrug, as if trying to look like he still didn't care but not quite pulling it off. She could tell the conversation was bothering him, and although she still felt a little sorry for him it gave her a sense of payback for the way he'd been quizzing her earlier. "I suppose, but honestly I'm past caring when it comes to him," Barty said, trying to sound nonchalant, "It's not like I can ever hope to change anything. Anyway, how's the pasta?"

She noticed how he seemed to be trying to change the subject, and she didn't think she was going to let him get away with it. "It's very nice, thanks," she said in response to his question, but she was intrigued by what he'd just told her and she had every intention of finding out more.

"Do you really mean that or are you just being nice again?" he asked with a smile.

"No, I really mean it. You've done great," she replied, but now she was determined to steer the conversation back to his father. Maybe he didn't want to talk about Barty Crouch Sr. but she certainly did. "But anyway, your dad does seem like a complete workaholic from what I've heard. My mum was telling me how he was at work over sixteen hours each day last week."

He scowled at her slightly, but seemed to accept the direction the conversation was going in. "He is a workaholic," he responded in a tone filled with resentment, "Doesn't seem to want to do anything else other than work, except perhaps find time to look after my mother when he needs Winky for something else. He hasn't got time to pay attention to me when he's completely obsessed with catching the Dark Lord's supporters."

Once he'd said that she stopped eating and gave a slight frown. She'd wanted to force him to talk about his father, but following that reply there was something else that had intrigued her.

He noticed she'd paused with her fork half way to her mouth. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just…I've never heard anybody refer to You-Know-Who as 'The Dark Lord' before."

He stopped eating too at that moment to look at her. Just for a couple of seconds there seemed to be a tension between them, then he shrugged. "It's easier to say than 'He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named'."

"Hmm, I suppose," she went back to her food, but there was still something about it that bothered her. As they got back to their dinner though and resumed talking about the Dutch Argentite they'd been discussing earlier, her discomfort was quickly forgotten.

-oOo-

After dinner he led her to the first floor guest room, where she thanked him for a great meal and set her overnight bag down by the bed. She was about to start unpacking when she realised he still hadn't left the room. She paused and turned to look at him, beginning to suspect where this might be going. "What?"

He was looking at her with one eyebrow raised, "But you aren't actually planning on staying in this room all night, are you?"

"What do you mean?"

He shook his head and gave her an almost disbelieving look. "Gwen, will you please stop acting so naïve or you're going to make me feel like I'm taking advantage."

As much as she wanted to pretend she had no idea what he was talking about, she had to admit that she did. And that only made her even more nervous.

Making use of the time it took her to respond, he quickly closed the space between them in a few long steps, and just as she'd been about to open her mouth to say something he pressed a firm kiss to her lips. It lasted only a few seconds, during which time she didn't move, and he pulled away to gauge her reaction. She was just staring at him in complete shock. Yes, she'd sort of had an idea it was coming, but she hadn't expected it to happen so suddenly right there and then. She noticed he was looking at her as if confused by her reaction and was wondering what to do next, but to her surprise she found herself initiating the next kiss.

_Whywhywhy am I doing this?_

_Because he expects you to, _she thought in answer to her own question. It wasn't that she was finding it unpleasant, she just wasn't finding it all that enjoyable either. It was just sort of a nothing feeling, like _well-this-isn't-all-that-great-and-can't-we-do-something-else. _But she knew she couldn't expect him to think that way too. She remembered the time a few years previously on graduation day at Hogwarts, when her then-boyfriend Zach had tried initiating something like this hidden away in a secret alcove behind a tapestry on the fifth floor. At the time she'd been wondering _what the fuck is this? _and she suspected she'd managed to confuse the hell out of Zach with her reaction (which was no doubt the reason he'd only stayed with her a few more weeks after graduation). She was at least grateful that however awkward it had been last time, at least this time she knew what to expect.

Barty had begun working at the buttons on her blouse, and realising what he was expecting her to do she began fumbling with those on his shirt. At that point however he pulled away from her and said, "Wait," before pulling his wand out of the back pocket of his jeans and using it to turn the lights out, then tossed it down on the bedside cabinet before resuming kissing her.

_Oh good, _Gwen thought in relief, _I don't care if he's shy 'cause I prefer it like this too._

He pushed her down onto the bed so he was on top of her, and they continued kissing as his hands moved over the bare skin of her stomach. _This isn't too bad, _Gwen thought, and she supposed she might actually grow to like it if things carried on.

They were interrupted, however, by the sudden sound of loud knocking coming from the main door of the house. At that point Barty pulled back from her and went very still, and she noticed he was holding his breath as he listened to what might be going on outside. She wondered what the hell was going on too, and she suddenly felt very nervous. After a few beats of silence, the knocking sounded again, and she thought she could hear the sound of a man calling out, "Crouch!"

"Shit," Barty muttered and suddenly scrambled off the bed and headed to the door, doing up his shirt. "Gwen, wait here," he instructed, and she laid very still and waited until she'd heard the last few creaks that indicated he'd just reached the bottom of the stairs. At that point she got up and creeped onto the landing, thinking she'd like to know exactly what was going on.

She knelt down next to the banister and looked down onto the ground floor. She couldn't see the front door from here, but she heard it creak open and saw the moonlight from outside spill across the white marble floor of the entrance hall. She could also see the elongated shadows of Barty and whoever it was on the other side of the door, and the eerie effect did nothing to comfort her.

As the two men spoke they did so in subdued voices, but Gwen found that if she breathed as quietly as possible she could just make out some of what they were saying. She wished she'd brought her wand with her to cast an amplification charm, but she'd left it in her bag next to the bed.

"Have you got the money yet? Pettigrew's getting nervous," she heard the stranger say.

"I'm working on it. It's going to take time." _So is this what his trading shares is all about? _she wondered.

"We haven't got time. He's saying that if we can't pay him he'll go to Dumbledore."

"Can't you just threaten him?" When she heard the word 'threaten' she began to feel the onset of panic. She had absolutely no idea what this was about, but it sounded bad.

"What do you think we're doing? He'll call our bluff eventually. He knows he's too important."

Barty said something else then which she couldn't make out, but everything she'd heard already scared her immensely.

"You know the spell means it won't work if he's under duress," the stranger responded, "We need to pay him off."

"What happens when we do?"

"We'll see but…" something else she couldn't make out.

"Why do I have to provide the full sum anyway?"

"You're expected to prove your worth. If you can't…" she couldn't hear the last part of the sentence, but she knew by this point she was immensely frightened. Her heart was pounding violently as a dozen sinister explanations for this flooded into her head. What the hell had she gotten caught up in? If she could run back to the bedroom now she could grab her wand and apparate home, but she was too scared to move.

"We can't talk right now. I'll meet with you tomorrow." She heard the final part of the conversation and the door creaked shut, and then as Barty's footsteps sounded across the entrance hall she ran back to the bedroom in terror. She flung herself down on the bed and lay there shaking, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do. If she disapparated now he'd know she'd heard everything, but she still didn't know what any of it meant. What if…

She didn't have time to finish that thought before the bedroom door opened and Barty came back in. "Sorry about that," he said calmly as he shut the door behind him.

"Who was that?" she asked, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible.

"Just someone looking for my father. I'll told them he wasn't here."

"Mmm," she squeaked as he lay back down on the bed and tried to pick up where they left off. She stiffened under his touch, and suddenly he pulled back from her.

"Gwen, why are you so tense?"

"Just nervous." She certainly sounded nervous, although it wasn't the right kind of nervous for the situation.

He glared at her, and even in the dark she could tell what kind of threatening expression he had on his face. "Gwen, how much of that did you hear?"

"Nothing." She realised it was the worst possible thing she could have said a moment after she said it.

"Don't lie." His tone was deadly serious.

"Just something about some money, that's all, I swear. I don't know if you're in gambling debt or what but I swear I won't tell anybody." It came as a shock to her to find she was crying.

He got up off the bed and started pacing the room. "Gwen, why the _fuck _couldn't you just have stayed where I told you to?" He sounded angry.

"Look, Barty, I'm sorry…"

He stopped by the cabinet next to the bed and picked up his wand. Then he levelled it to point at her.

"Barty, please…"

He looked at her, seemingly regretful but resolved to go through with what he was about to do. "I'm sorry too, Gwen."

She didn't have time to react before the spell was cast.

"_Obliviate."_

**A/N: And I hope things just got interesting for you readers! I made sure this was a nice long chapter too, to make up for the shortness of the last one and the delay in updating. And I do promise to explain what Dutch Argentite is, as long as you keep reading. Hope you enjoyed. Please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Got my exam results this morning and I have rather mixed feelings about them. Statistics and physics went really well, but I only got B's and C's in maths, and I'm predicted A's. This means I'll probably have to spend more time revising maths from now on instead of writing, so I may have to slow down the rate at which I'm updating until July.**

**Disclaimer: Same as previous.**

**Chapter Eleven**

When Gwen awoke next morning she found herself in a strange, unfamiliar bed wearing nothing but her underwear, with a splitting headache and no idea how she got there. No, wait… she did have _some_ idea. As she blinked her eyes open and stared up at the ceiling that was faintly illuminated with light managing to leak through the curtains, some memory of the previous night's events began to come back to her. She remembered arriving at this house – Barty's house – vaguely remembered having dinner, and then…not much afterwards. She had a faint recollection of coming upstairs, but that was all. Why on earth couldn't she remember? She hadn't been drunk had she? Immediately she dismissed the idea. She couldn't have been – she didn't drink. But the more she thought about it the more doubtful she was. She couldn't really remember much about last night at all; she might've been drinking after all if she was too embarrassed not to. And, reluctant though she was to admit it, that most definitely sounded like something she would do. It seemed to be the only explanation that fit. And now she found herself lying almost completely naked in somebody else's bed. Just perfect.

She groaned and rolled onto her side. Her head was killing her. _Is this what it's like to be hung over? Well, I am never doing this again. _She pulled the covers back over her head and wished she could just conveniently disappear and Barty would forget she even existed. It wasn't likely to happen though, given that she did appear to be lying in his bed dressed only in her underwear. _But, _she told herself, _there are two promising things about this situation: _for one, she was still in her underwear and hadn't undressed completely, which was something. For a second, this didn't really appear to be his room: there weren't any personal touches anywhere and the whole set up and décor of the room seemed very plain and designed to cater to a generic taste. So it was likely to be just a guest room. Which, she hoped, meant nothing had happened last night. _Except, something clearly did happen, otherwise why wouldn't I be able to remember it?_

From downstairs she could hear the sounds of pots clanging and scraping against metal surfaces and there was a faint smell of bacon. She took that to mean Barty was making breakfast, although she wasn't sure if he was making it for himself or for her as well. She didn't really want to find out, but she supposed she was going to have to face up to him eventually and find out exactly what happened last night, so she reluctantly dragged herself out of bed, dressed in the clothes she had found left folded on the chair by the window, and headed downstairs.

As she entered the kitchen she found him stood at the cooker poaching some eggs. He didn't seem to have noticed her, so she thought she ought to make the first move, although the prospect of doing so was incredibly nerve-wracking. She wasn't sure why she felt so nervous. Last night couldn't have been _that _bad, could it? "Morning."

He glanced up at her briefly. "Morning."

That was all the acknowledgement she got, so she decided to sit down at the breakfast bar where he'd set out two empty plates. She perched on one of the stools and watched him prepare breakfast for a few more minutes. He didn't say another word to her, so in the end she decided she should get on and ask him what she wanted to know. "Barty, what…uh, why can't I remember anything that happened last night?"

His answer was very straightforward, and he didn't even look at her as he gave it. "Because you were drunk."

That still didn't make sense to her. "But I don't drink."

"You did last night." He didn't even look up from his cooking as he answered her, and in a way she was glad he didn't see her grimace. _Looks like I was right then, I did end up letting him get me drunk. Why can I never stand up for myself?_

Feeling quite embarrassed, she gave a rather awkward response. "That explains the headache then."

At that, she finally got a reaction from him and he smiled as he set down a slice of bacon on her plate. "This'll make you feel better."

"Thanks."

He followed it up with an egg, and just as he was putting that on her plate she thought to ask him something else. "Why aren't you hung over?"

"Because, unlike you, I'm used to drinking. Now, get that eaten. I promise bacon is the best cure for a hangover you'll find." She picked up her knife and fork and he sat down next to her to eat his breakfast. He was about to make a start on it, then seemed to remember something. "Sorry, I forgot. Did you want coffee or something?"

She was about to ask for tea, then remembered coffee was supposed to be better for hangovers. "Yes, please, coffee would be nice."

He took his wand out of his pocket and gave it a wave. Two mugs and a cafetiere drifted over to them to start serving coffee. He went back to his breakfast, and they ate in silence for a few more minutes before Barty finally spoke again. "Gwen, don't take this the wrong way, but my father's due back at midday and I'd appreciate it if you could leave before then."

"Oh." He wanted rid her. Clearly last night had been bad, she thought. She just wished she knew _how_ bad. There was a moment's pause before she responded properly. "Barty, did I do something last night? Is that why you want me gone?"

"No, no!" He set down his knife and fork and looked annoyed. "Gwen, you didn't do anything. It's just I'd rather my father didn't find out about this. I don't think he'd approve." He picked up his knife and fork again and was about to carry on eating, then seemed to realise how that might've come across to her. "I don't mean he wouldn't approve of you personally, and I just mean of the situation in general."

She understood that, but still wasn't convinced she hadn't done anything bad. "Ok, fair enough. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would be particularly pleased about this."

"No, he's not. But Gwen, please don't worry about anything, alright?" He was looking at her earnestly. "You seem like the sort of person who would worry yourself stupid over the tiniest little thing, and I'd really rather you didn't."

She wasn't sure what had caused him to say that, but she thought it was rather nice of him. "No…um, sure. Not if you say I don't need to."

He nodded, and they went back to eating the rest of their breakfast in silence.

-oOo-

Gwen arrived home just after eleven o'clock to find her father sitting in a chair by the living room window reading a book. He glanced up as she arrived in the fireplace. "Back already, Gwen?"

She nodded, "Well, his dad'll be back home soon, so he needed me out of the house."

"Fair enough. How was it?"

"Alright."

Realising she didn't really want to talk about it, he let the matter drop. "Good, good. If you were hoping to avoid your mother's interrogation then you're in luck; she's gone out shopping. Probably won't be back for a few more hours."

Feeling relieved, Gwen sank into the sofa opposite the fireplace. "Oh, good."

He father noticed how relieved she was and raised an eyebrow, "You think you'll see him again?"

"Probably…" she was about to finish that sentence with 'at work,' but then remembered Barty didn't want anyone to know about his banking arrangements.

"Good. I was beginning to worry he'd upset you."

"No, it's fine."

John set his book down and got up to cross to one of the cupboards on the opposite side of the room. He picked up a piece of parchment lying on top of it. "A letter arrived for you while you were away. I'm not sure who it's from. I think it might be something to do with work, but it's not got the Gringotts seal on it."

Curious, Gwen held out her hand for the letter. "Okay, Dad. Let me have a look." He handed her the letter and she opened it to read.

_Dear Ms Coulthard,_

_I am writing on behalf of Desdinova Dark Detectors Ltd. to provide more information regarding the location of our headquarters. Your representative who was due to visit our Amsterdam laboratory last week attempted to do so by calling for the destination of 'Van Goff Plahts' on the International Floo Grid. I would just like to clarify that the pronunciation is 'Vfon Ghochghh Plaats' (try saying it with phlegm) and if future representatives pronounce it this way when using the Floo Network, they are less likely to end up in Granada Hills, California._

_Thank you for your co-operation in this matter. I hope Mister Hague was not too inconvenienced by this mishap, and I look forward to meeting with you next week._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Sander Westerbeck,_

_International Finance Director, DDD Ltd_

Initially, Gwen was confused as to what on earth the letter was about, then remembered the report she had been drawing up all week and couldn't help but laugh. She vaguely remembered hearing something about Frank Hague getting himself lost in America last week, but didn't know that was what it had been about. She'd asked him to find out more about the company's manufacturing system, but when he never got back to her she'd just assumed he'd forgotten. Then it turned out on Friday that he'd only just managed to make his way back from California. It was actually quite funny.

She supposed Sander Westerbeck was the S. Westerbeck she had down in her planner for a meeting on Wednesday, and after reading the letter she thought she was actually quite eager to meet him. He certainly seemed to have a sense of humour, which was more than could be said for most of her clients.

Her father noticed her smiling. "What?"

"Nothing, Dad. Just some Dutch guy I have a meeting with next week."

He shrugged, "Ok. I'm just going to get a cup of tea, do you want one?"

"Yes please, Dad." He headed off towards the kitchen and Gwen folded up the letter and tucked her feet up onto the sofa, chuckling to herself. All thoughts of Barty and what had happened earlier or the night previously had vanished from her mind.

**A/N: Hope you liked it. Please review. ****I have a request for suggestions from reviewers as to the possible name of a wizarding school like Hogwarts in the Netherlands. I'd like to feature it in a future chapter. **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry if I confused anyone last chapter. And also sorry for the fact that Barty only gets a brief mention in this one. These next few chapters probably won't be the most interesting ones, but I can't write the good bits I'm building up to unless I actually write the build up. And, by way of explanation of some things, I love all things Dutch. Do not ask why, I just do, which is why I have made certain characters the way they are.**

**I'm still managing to get a lot of writing done at the moment, but when I start getting six assignments a week to do from school (my teacher is crazy - she actually gives us that many in the run up to exams) then I'll have to slow down a bit.**

**Disclaimer: I think you know what I own and what I don't.**

**Chapter Twelve**

Gwen got her first owl of the week within half an hour of arriving back at work on Monday morning. It was a large eagle owl, and it was tapping insistently at her window before it had even reached nine thirty. Thinking it must be important, Gwen opened the window to collect the letter from it. Upon opening the letter she saw it was merely two sentences long.

_When are you free this week? I need to talk to you._

_Barty_

Upon reading the note her initial reaction was one of relief that he did still want to talk to her_. _Then she wondered why he'd felt the need to send the note. If he wanted to come and see her he could have just shown up, like he had done on previous occasions. Maybe he was prepping her for something bad, and she immediately felt sick and didn't want him to come at all. Had Saturday night really been that bad? Maybe he was going to tell her he didn't want to see her again. She felt rather upset at that thought, but then told herself she was being stupid and it might not be about that at all. Since he'd asked her to manage his bank accounts, then he was going to have to come and see her at work at some point. It could just as easily be about that.

Picking up her quill from the desk, she scribbled down an answer on a piece of notepaper. She considered asking what it was he wanted to talk about, but then decided that since he'd sent her such a brief note in the first place, he probably didn't want to write about it in a letter. She kept her answer concise.

_In meetings Wednesday and Thursday afternoon. Free every other time than that._

_Gwen_

Folding up the note and crossing to the window to hand it back to the owl, she couldn't help feeling apprehensive at the thought of seeing him again. She did really _want _to, she was just worried about what he might say to her. She wished she could remember more of Saturday night, then she might have an idea of how badly things had worked out. Then she thought that on Sunday morning he had been perfectly pleasant towards her, if a little distant, and that made it even harder for her to work out what might be wrong. She hoped it wasn't anything to do with her, and as she watched the owl fly away with her message she hoped she'd be seeing him sooner in the week rather than later.

-oOo-

When the knock came on her door on Wednesday morning, she was tempted not to answer it and pretend she wasn't in. Even though part of her _did _want to see Barty again, she couldn't stand the thought that this might be him finishing things with her. He'd kept her in suspense for two days, and she thought she'd rather break up with him by simply just not seeing him again than have him officially reject her. Then she told herself to stop being stupid, and got up the courage to call out "Come in," to the person on the other side of the door.

As the door opened she was immediately surprised. Instead of the skinny, sandy haired youth she'd expected to see, a tall, dark haired man was standing in the doorway to her office. He looked to be in his late twenties, with dark copper hair that came to his shoulders, a long, straight nose and dark blue eyes. He seemed to notice her look of surprise, and responded with a question. "This _is_ Gwen Coulthard's office, isn't it?" His voice had a faint Dutch accent, and he pronounced her surname with a soft 'th' rather than a hard 't'.

Wondering who he was, she got over her surprise in order to answer him. "Um, yeah. Sorry, but do you have an appointment?"

He looked puzzled. "Yes, I'm Sander Westerbeck. We have a meeting at twelve thirty?"

"It's eleven thirty."

"It is?" For a few more moments he looked confused, then a look of elucidation spread across his face. "Ah, yes, of course. Time difference, _ja? _I always forget about that. Would you like me to come back later?"

She thought about saying yes, but given that she wasn't all that busy right now she supposed they may as well start the meeting early. "No, we can start now if you like. Please have a seat. I'll just get your application file out." She waved her wand to summon a folder that was stacked up on top of some others by the window. It flew over to her desk and she opened it to a page with the header 'DDD Ltd: proposals for international expansion project and management of capital'. After opening it, she looked across at him and noticed he was trying to read the file upside down. _Um, he's not really supposed to be doing that, _but she thought it didn't matter that much.

He seemed to be concentrating too much on reading the file to start the conversation, so Gwen cleared her throat and began. "So, Mr Westerbeck. I think we perhaps ought to start with proper introductions. I'm Gwen Coulthard."

She held out her hand, and he shook it with a smile. "I hope you are, because otherwise you'd be in the wrong office."

"Huh?"

"You're name's on the door."

"Oh…" _It was a joke, of course. Why didn't I get that? _Feeling mildly embarrassed but determined to shrug it off, she carried on. "And you're Sander Westerbeck, representing Desdinova Dark Detectors, yes?"

He nodded. "I am, although I think we're pronouncing each other's names wrong. Do you say it Kul-tard?"

"Erm, yeah. Why, how do you say yours?"

"Well, you're saying it with a 'v' and it's more of a 'vw'."

She was confused. "A 'vw'?"

"Well, it's not really a 'v' and it's not really a 'w,' it's sort of like a less rounded version of your English 'w', but you're saying it like it's German."

Gwen couldn't help but think this really had nothing to do with banking or investments, but it was quite interesting. "So how am I meant to say it?"

He said his name.

"And how was I saying it?"

He said it again.

"Sorry, I really can't tell the difference."

He shrugged. "Never mind. You're pronouncing it better than most English people I know. Shall we get down to business?"

"Sure." She turned a page over in her file and couldn't help but smile. He was very likeable: she found him very down to earth and friendly, although he was a lot younger than she expected. It was impressive he'd managed to get the position of International Finance Director when he barely seemed to have reached thirty. "So, Mr Vv-Westerbeck…" she made an attempt at pronouncing it properly and he smiled at her, causing her to blush, "You've applied for our help to raise funds in order to launch your products in the UK."

"Yes, we hope to be able to supply many of your existing stores with our products, and maybe even launch our own store in Diagon Alley."

"Given the nature of your products, you're probably one of the few companies around right now that has any chance of making a profit. With so many dark wizards at large the market in dark detectors is still thriving."

He nodded, "Exactly."

She flicked to another page in the file. "However, we do already have agreements set up with small businesses here in the UK that produce similar kinds of hardware. Could you give me more information as to why an investment in your company is more solid than an investment in theirs?"

He leaned back in his chair, seemingly quite at ease. "Well, it's all to do with Dutch Argentite. Do you know what that is?"

"I read a very brief article in the newspaper about it last week, but that's all. Tell me more."

"Well, it's a particular kind of silver ore that has interesting magical properties - it's particularly receptive to dark magic, making it perfect for use in dark detectors. The Netherlands is the only place in the world where it is found naturally, and a particularly large deposit of it was discovered in caves under the town of Valkenburg aan de Geul a few months ago. Our company bought the rights to mining it off of the Dutch government, and now we are using it to manufacture the most reliable dark detectors you'll find anywhere in the world."

She nodded. "So you're saying they're much higher quality than anything you could already find on the market. How does that impact on the price of them?"

He smiled, "Now that's the good bit. If you were talking to a foreign owned company then they'd be much more expensive because of the export tariffs on the ore itself. As we're based in Amsterdam, we can provide them to UK businesses at almost the same price as the detectors already on the market. The only thing that might increase the price is the taxes imposed by your Ministry."

That sounded like a promising investment to Gwen: high quality dark detectors at an only marginally higher price were bound to sell. However, she wondered why the company had applied for market assistance, not an upfront sum. "It's sounds very promising, Mr Westerbeck…"

"Please call me Sander. Nice though it is listening to you try and pronounce my last name, I prefer it when things are a little less formal. Is it alright if I call you Gwen?"

Normally in work situations she liked things to be strictly professional, but oddly on this occasion she found she didn't mind so much. Probably something to do with the fact that he was so damn likeable. "No, sure, that's fine…Sander." She made the effort to get his name in. "It's just that if you were to make an application to Commercial Investment on the seventh floor, they'd probably be happy to give you the money for your project up front."

"I know. What worries me though is the size of the equity they'd demand. Don't take this the wrong way Gwen, but I want as much money of this as possible to be channelled back to the Dutch Ministry. We don't have any big banks like this one, our Ministry doesn't have a lot of money, but we need to defend ourselves from dark wizards too. That was part of the agreement when we bought the mine from the government: the profits went back to the Dutch wizarding community. If you'll help us raise funds on the markets, I'm happy to split shares with you, but I don't want to hand over a large portion of this company to a foreign bank."

Something about the way he was talking puzzled her. "Sander, you don't _own _this company do you? It doesn't say that in the file, but the way you're talking about it…"

He cut her off. "Own it? Um, no. Well, sort of, maybe. My brother, Martijn, he's an auror, and it was mostly his idea, but we didn't have the funds to set it up on our own. We're lucky we have a rather rich uncle in South Holland who was prepared to put up the money to get us started, but he's made it quite clear he's the one who owns the company. He has quite an important standing in the Dutch Ministry; that's the only reason we could convince them to let us buy off the caves in the first place."

"Oh, I see." It was a bit of an unusual setup, but the records showed it had been quite a successful in the Benelux countries so far. "Well, Mr…Sander. If you're still happy to let us sell shares of up to forty per cent of your business, we should be able to meet your suggested target of raising twenty five thousand galleons in six months."

He smiled. "Good. That went much more smoothly than I'd expected. Thank you, Gwen." He held out his hand and they shook on it.

"It was nice meeting you, Sander," Gwen said as she led him to the door, "I expect I'll meet with you again in about a month to review our progress."

"Um, sure. That feels like a long time away," he was standing at the door, but didn't seem in any rush to leave. "Hey, Gwen, when are you on your lunch?"

The question took her by surprise. "I'm sorry?"

"It's just that I'm not in any rush to get back to Amsterdam until this evening, and I was wondering if you could show me if there are any nice places to eat round here."

"Oh…" she wasn't sure if agreeing to show him a nice place for lunch was the professional thing to do, but it would be rude to say no. Not to mention the fact that it would make her lunch hour far more interesting. "Well, it's almost twelve thirty, and since we finished early I suppose we could go now. There's a rather nice ice cream place down the road I could show you."

He grinned at her. "Great."

_Well, at least that's one guy who still wants to be around me, _she thought as they headed down the corridor to the lift at the end, _and unlike my other clients this one seems to be really nice_. Semog may have been glaring at her as he noticed her leaving for lunch a few minutes early, but at this moment in time she really didn't care.

**A/N: So somebody else has shown up. Does Barty have competition? We shall see. **

******Updated A/N 23/04/12: As of the time I'm posting this updated note, I've written about fifty more chapters since this one and I think it's too late for me to do anything, but I just wanted to mention that I'm really wishing I'd stuck with the spelling of 'Westerbeek' as I'd originally intended and not changed it to 'Westerbeck' for the sake of familiarity. To any Benelux readers, I know it's not authentic, but for some stupid reason I changed it because I wanted my English speaking readers to pronounce it more like the way it looks. Now I'm really wishing I hadn't. This is the last time I'm sacrificing authenticity for the sake of accessibility, and I won't be attempting to Anglicise any more foreign names I feature. I kind of wish I could change this one, but that would require editing fifty chapters (a hundred if you count the other site I have this posted on) and I simply can't be bothered. Therefore all I can say is sorry I stupidly decided to do that and I hope it doesn't bother anyone too much.**

**To ObsessedMuchX: Thanks for the translator suggestions – I think I'll try that. Hmm, about the letter…it wasn't necessarily meant to be confusing, just odd - one of those things where you're not sure if it's a joke or not. Last chapter probably wasn't my best one. I'd like to say I hope the next chapter's better, but I think there's going to be a shortage of Barty for a bit. Although I prefer writing the parts that he's in, for the sake of what I've got planned later in the story I need to fill in a few details over the next few chapters when he's not around. Stick with me though, things will start to pick up again around chapter fifteen.**

**To sara253xxx: I'm glad you're enjoying this. I always try and update regularly because I like to keep the story moving forward. If I write a slow chapter I like to follow it up pretty quickly with a better one, but other things may be getting in the way of how regularly I update in the near future. I might have to cut back to one update once a week. I hope you don't mind too much.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I had a bit more time to write yesterday. I should have been doing my scholarship application for Kent University, but I got really bored of that so I wrote this instead. ****I'm trying to skirt round the issue of investment banking by writing about physics and ice cream. These are topics I know a great deal about indeed :)**

**Disclaimer: I'm trying to work out why I do one of these every single chapter, and I honestly don't have a clue. I think you get the picture by now.  
**

**Chapter Thirteen**

Half an hour later, Gwen and Sander were sat beneath the veranda outside Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour with a toffee caramel sundae each. They were talking more about dark detectors and Gwen was trying to get a proper explanation out of Sander as to how they worked.

"But dark wizards can use dark detectors as well right? That probably doesn't sound like it makes sense, but don't the detectors sort of change depending on the person using them?"

Sander had another spoonful of caramel ice cream as he thought about his answer. "Yeah, that is possible. Dark wizards can in theory reverse the polarity of dark detectors, but that's another thing that's so good about ours. Because our detectors as so fine tuned to pick up dark magic, they'd be so much less reliable if a dark wizard tried to use them."

Gwen licked some toffee sauce off of her spoon. "How does that work though?"

"Well, the argentite sort of picks up a charge when someone's been using dark magic nearby. It's like magnetism. That's this muggle thing, where if you put a material like iron in a magnetic field…"

"All the charges in the material align and it becomes magnetised." Gwen finished.

He looked impressed.

She shrugged. "I did Muggle Studies."

"Oh, you'll know what I'm on about then," he said, using his long spoon to scrape some of the ice cream from the bottom of the sundae glass. "You'd understand what I meant if I said it's sort of like a magical emission diode?"

She had to think for a moment to interpret that. "If you have a certain kind of polarised magic, like most forms of dark magic, it, um…lights up?"

He smiled. "Exactly. Depending on what you use it in though it can be adapted for different purposes." At that moment, something seemed to occur to him and he set down his spoon to rummage around in the inside pocket of his jacket. After a few seconds searching, he pulled something out and set it down on the table in front of Gwen. "Like this, for example."

She bent forward to examine it, and to her it looked like a small spinning top made of a shiny black rock that was streaked with silver. "It's a sneakoscope."

He shook his head. "Better than that. It's an auroscope. Those silver bits are Dutch argentite. If somebody's doing anything untrustworthy nearby, it'll start spinning and let off a whistling sound like an ordinary sneakoscope. But if anybody's doing something _really _bad, the silver parts start letting off a phosphorescent glow and it gets rather hot. It's pretty to look at, but if it means a dark wizard's nearby you don't ever really want it to do that."

Gwen looked at it more closely and frowned. "How do you _know _though?"

"Sorry?"

"Well, you haven't been doing dark magic in order to test it, have you?"

He laughed. "No, but like I said, my brother's an auror. He's seen it in action."

"So basically it's a sneakoscope especially attuned to dark magic."

"Um, yeah. But Martijn's pretty proud of the term 'auroscope' so he'd prefer it if you called it that."

"But really, it _is _just a glorified sneakoscope."

Sander thought she didn't seem very impressed, so he reached across the table and gave it a push so that it rolled closer to her. "Why don't you keep it? See if it grows on you. I'm pretty sure it's better than whatever sneakoscope you're using now."

Gwen looked rather reluctant to pick it up. "Oh, no…Sander. I couldn't do that."

He rolled his eyes. "Gwen, I manufacture and sell these things for a living. It won't hurt me to let you have just this one."

She blushed. "Alright. Thanks." Gwen picked it up and slipped it into her pocket, thinking she probably wouldn't ever have any need for it. At the same time as doing that she checked her watch, and noticed that it was 1:23. "Sorry, Sander, I think I need to be getting back to work soon."

He looked disappointed. "But technically you're supposed to be in a meeting with me. Our meeting might last all afternoon; we just happen to be having it in an ice cream parlour a few metres down the road from the bank."

She laughed. "It's a nice idea, but I'm not sure my boss would buy it."

"Oh well. I'll be seeing you again soon, though?" he said as she finished her ice cream and got up from the table.

"Yeah, I'll need to meet with you again in a couple of weeks to review progress."

He nodded, "How does two o' clock a week next Thursday sound?"

"Great." They shook hands as a parting gesture, and Gwen was disappointed it was such a formal manner of saying goodbye.

"I'll let you get back to work now," he said with a smile, "I might go have a look round at some of these shops; check out the competition."

"Alright, you do that. See you later Sander."

"See you." They went in separate directions and Gwen headed back towards the bank, feeling slightly deflated at the thought she now had to go back to work. _It's only because you want to spend the rest of the afternoon eating ice cream though, _she told herself, _it's nothing to do with __him._ Then she had to admit that maybe it was. He was incredibly friendly and pleasant to be around: it made a refreshing change from her usual sombre clients.

When she arrived back at her office she found a folded piece of parchment waiting for her on the desk. _Strange, _she thought. _Well, it can't be anything to do with work as it would be in my in-tray. But who else could have been in here? Oh, wait…_

She was beginning to get an idea of who it might be from just before she began to open it. The moment she saw the spidery handwriting it confirmed she was right.

_Called earlier but you weren't in. I do really need to talk to you. I'll be waiting round the back of Flourish and Blotts after work tomorrow. Sorry if it's inconvenient but please show up._

_Barty_

It really didn't seem to her like the kind of note you would send someone if you were about to break up with them. She didn't think if that was the case he'd be asking to meet round the back of Flourish and Blotts, and that worried her. Clearly something was wrong, and she wondered why he hadn't been able to see her earlier in the week. Had he not been able to get away from his father? Or maybe it was something to do with his mother being ill? She didn't know, but the subject she had managed to avoid thinking about for the past two hours had been brought to her attention again and she wondered what on earth was going on. Mixed in with her curiosity though was a fair amount of concern. Was Barty in trouble? Why was he being so secretive? _Maybe he'll tell me tomorrow, _she wondered, but she wasn't convinced. She thought that since they weren't, strictly speaking, just banker-and-client anymore, then he perhaps ought to tell her, but she wasn't sure if they counted as boyfriend-and-girlfriend yet. Was one date enough to mark them as a couple? Especially if it was a date where nothing had happened? Or at least it was a date where she _thought _nothing had happened. And more to the point, she wasn't sure if he _wanted_ to be considered her boyfriend yet. He acted so strangely around her it was hard to tell what he was really feeling.

"Oh, damn you, Barty," she muttered to herself as she folded the note back up, wishing he hadn't managed to spoil what had been a pleasant day with what was probably needless worry. _Well, at least after tomorrow I won't be wondering what it is he wants to talk about anymore, _she thought, as she settled down behind her desk and tried to get back to work.

**A/N: Ok, what do you all think? That's probably going to be the last of Sander for a bit as I think I'm going to do a few chapters that focus on Barty now, but I have a plan as to how everything comes together.**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: The plus side to being off school ill is that it gives me plenty of time for writing.**

**Chapter Fourteen**

Gwen spent the entirety of the next working day in a state of nervous agitation at the thought of meeting Barty later. Fortunately, she was spared the ordeal of having to sit through a meeting in that state, as the representative from The Securicology Company was taken ill at the last minute and had to cancel. After work, as instructed, Gwen headed round to the back of Flourish and Blotts to meet with Barty. It wasn't a particularly pleasant backstreet and she wondered why he'd wanted to meet there. Was it really necessary for them to go to this extreme just so nobody would find out about his banking arrangements with her? She thought he was being over-cautious and wished they could have met somewhere else. The area round the back of the book shop wasn't too bad, but it was only a few buildings down from the apothecary which had several waste bins stationed outside its back entrance. They were giving off an unpleasant smell and Gwen wrinkled her nose as she realised there could be rats (or worse) down there. She thought there would be somebody from the Ministry who came to empty the bins every week, and as she looked down at the backs of the shops on the other side of the backstreet she thought the Department for Disposal of Dangerous Magical Waste must have a lot of work to do down here. Her geographical knowledge of the area outside Diagon Alley wasn't great, but she thought the shops opposite belonged to Knockturn Alley, which then curved and split into Aetern Alley half way down the road. There seemed to be more of the Magical Waste Bins round the back of them and she didn't much like standing round here on her own. She wished Barty would hurry up and arrive.

After ten minutes of waiting she was just beginning to consider heading back to the bank when she heard a voice behind her. "Gwen, glad you could make it."

She jumped slightly, but recognising the voice she turned round and smiled. "Barty, hey."

He gave her a small smile back, but it looked a little forced. "Hey. Look, I'm sorry I couldn't come earlier in the week. It's been difficult trying to get away from my father and with things going on at work…" he trailed off, noticing there was a faint whistling sound coming from somewhere. "What's that?"

Gwen felt something vibrating in her pocket and thought she knew what it was. "Oh…um…" she dug her hand into her pocket to take out the auroscope Sander had given her. It was certainly making a high pitched whistling noise and felt like it was trying to rotate in her hand. She wondered why it was doing that. Barty wasn't exactly doing anything wrong; all he'd done was show up. Or maybe it had something to do with whatever it was he wanted the banking setup for. Still though, she didn't think it could be that bad. Sander had said the auroscope was particularly sensitive. "It's nothing. Just something a client gave me." She noticed he was frowning at it, so she put a freezing charm on it and put it back in her pocket. It stopped trying to rotate, but was still letting out a very quiet whistle. _Maybe I should tell Sander his auroscope's dodgy next time I see him._

Once she'd put it away she looked back up at him, and was surprised to see he'd gone silent and looked rather nervous. She wondered if it was to do with her. "Barty, is everything alright?"

At that he seemed to snap out of his daze and answered her quickly, "Yes…well, no, but it's nothing you need to worry about."

She wasn't convinced. "Are you sure? Because I thought that maybe, um…maybe I…well, is to do with me?"

He looked startled that she could even think that. "What? No, Gwen it's nothing to do with you. It's just…other things. If anything, you're the exact opposite of them problem."

She was relieved to hear that, and was pleased that he seemed to genuinely mean it, but now it just made her even more worried about what might be wrong. "And what is the problem?"

He looked nervous again. "Right, well, um… Look, Gwen, I know you're probably going to have a lot of questions you'll want to ask after I've said this, put please understand I really can't answer them." His tone seemed rather pleading.

"Go on," she said apprehensively, wondering what this was going to be about.

"Well, Gwen I need a loan in this next week for ten thousand galleons."

Her eyes boggled. "You want _how much?_"

"Look, I know it seems like a lot, but…"

"What for?"

He gritted his teeth and looked irritated. "I've just said I can't tell you that."

She may have annoyed him, but she was annoyed too. "Barty, you can't seriously ask me to get you a ten grand loan and expect me to not ask questions."

"Gwen, I'm sorry, but I need you to trust me."

She glared at him. "Well then, can't you at least trust me enough to tell me what all this is about?"

He sighed and looked like he was debating with himself how much he should reveal to her. "The thing is though I can't. I'm not…well, I'm not doing this for myself. It's on somebody else's behalf."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why can't they come and tell me themselves then?"

"Because nobody can know."

He looked so earnest and desperate she didn't feel like she could push it any further. She sighed, "Alright. I can get you half."

She saw a flicker of annoyance cross his face. "Why only half?"

"Barty, there's no way I can get you a ten grand loan without them wanting to do background checks, and that would take longer than a week _and _mean your father finding out. Five thousand's the best I can do."

He looked angry, but seemed to accept there was nothing he could do. "Alright. It'll have to do. Thank you Gwen." He leant forward to give her a kiss on the cheek in what she supposed was a gesture of thanks, and she immediately stiffened. _Has he done this before or not? _If he'd done it to make her feel less uncomfortable about what she'd just agreed to, then it had had the opposite effect. It wasn't that she didn't want him to, but she still wasn't sure she trusted him. He was being far too secretive for her to be completely at ease around him.

Pulling back awkwardly, he straightened his robes and cleared his throat. "Right, well, I'll try and come and see you properly next week, if things manage to calm down at work. Maybe we could even go out one night?"

"Oh, um…I don't know."

He seemed rather dissatisfied with her answer. "Well, maybe you could think about it before I see you on…Monday, probably."

"Maybe."

"Right. See you later, Gwen," he said irritably, before turning and disapparating with a _crack._

The moment he'd disappeared Gwen let out a breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding. _What on earth's he up to? _She was pondering that thought for a few moments, before realising there was something rather warm pressing against her leg. She reached into the pocket of her robes and took out the auroscope, which was glowing a silvery blue colour and felt rather hot. For a moment it briefly occurred to her that maybe Barty was getting involved with some kind of dark magic, then she realised the sheer stupidity of that thought and shook her head. _Yeah, with a father who's head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, like that is even vaguely plausible or makes a scrap of sense. _Maybe it was because she was standing so close to the entrance to Knockturn Alley: there was always something dodgy going on down there. Perhaps the heightened sensitivity of the auroscope wasn't so useful after all if it went off when it wasn't needed. "This doesn't bode well for your business, Sander," she said to herself, pocketing the auroscope and heading back towards the entrance of the shop to use their fireplace.

**A/N: I'm slightly worried that Gwen isn't suspicious enough of him and writes off the auroscope as dodgy too easily, but then I considered the fact that Barty Crouch Jr being a Death Eater probably seems as unlikely and ridiculous to her as Sarah Palin's daughter becoming a Marxist. Hope this chapter was alright, and thanks to my reviewers!**

**To ObsessedMuchX: I made the silver up, but Valkenburg aan de Geul is a real place and I went to the caves there a few years ago. It's just the kind of place I could imagine them discovering magical silver ore so I put it in the story.**

**To sara253xxx: I thought it'd be good to be have Sander and Barty as polar opposites of each other so it'll be interesting to see which one Gwen goes for. I'm glad you like Sander but he probably won't show up again for a while as I'm going to focus on Barty for a bit now, so I hope you enjoy that instead.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I've got so much inspiration for this story right now I'm trying to write and update as much as possible. This is the Barty POV chapter I promised.**

**Chapter Fifteen**

Barty was distracted. He was supposed to be tracking down all the files that could be submitted as evidence in a trial next week, but he absolutely couldn't concentrate. Instead of focussing on what he was supposed to be doing, he was thinking about the problems he was having finding that ten grand he needed. It just wasn't happening fast enough; the others were starting to get suspicious of him, and he knew he needed to pass this test. He was incredibly resentful of the fact that they seemed to think _money _was the only way for a rich boy like him to prove his loyalty, but given his background he supposed they had more reason to be cautious around him than they did with others. But he was still bitter about it. None of them had come down as harshly on Pettigrew, despite the fact that he was the one displaying least loyalty. "Bastard," Barty muttered, and his fingers balled into a fist at the thought of the slimy little rat-man. Pettigrew wasn't risking anything. He knew he had the upper hand and wasn't prepared to commit himself until he was sure he'd get the money. Barty, on the other hand, was putting everything on the line and was being treated with nothing but hostility. They didn't think he was good enough. _Stuck up fuckers, the lot of them. _He'd show them though. He'd show them he was loyal; show them he was worthy. It was just that things weren't going quite as smoothly as planned.

Just as he'd crossed the room and sat back down at his desk, he realised he'd picked up the file for Macaffery and not Macnair. Glaring at the file as if it was its fault, he got back up again and headed back over to the filing cabinet. If he didn't manage to gather all the evidence together in time for the prosecutors to review it before next week, then he knew he would have a few pissed off officials and administrators to deal with. That really wasn't what was bothering him though. What was worrying him was the thought of what would happen if he didn't get the money before Pettigrew's deadline…

"Crouch."

At the sound of the voice behind him he quickly spun round away from the filing cabinet. Recognising the man stood in the doorway, he felt his heart beat a little faster and licked his lips nervously. This was really _not _who he wanted to see right now. "Malfoy."

The tall blond sauntered into the room, looking around him with what was clearly contempt for the poky little hole that was Barty's office. "How are things progressing?"

"I've managed to secure a loan for five thousand galleons." His voice came out higher than he would have liked, not quite projecting the air of confidence he'd hoped for.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, "I thought the agreement was for ten thousand galleons?"

Barty swallowed and nodded. "It was, but it really isn't possible to get that much in time for next week."

Malfoy took a few steps closer to Barty and stopped so they were just a few inches apart. "But the Dark Lord is getting impatient, and we have to assume that Pettigrew is serious in his threat to inform Dumbledore of our plans if we cannot meet his requirements."

Barty licked his lips again. "Look, I know I'm supposedly from one of the richest families, but it's my father's money, not mine. And besides, you're richer than us; you'd be better able to provide the money if it's that important."

Malfoy glared, as if he couldn't quite believe the nerve of the boy to be so insolent. "_I, _however, have a young son to care for, and I can't simply produce ten thousand galleons at the drop of the hat."

_Fucking hypocrite. _"Neither can I," Barty surprised himself with the nerve he was showing, especially since he knew full well what they would do to him if they thought he was no longer useful.

Malfoy seemed to be trying to prevent himself from reacting violently. "How have you got hold of the five thousand galleons?"

"I have an arrangement with a banker."

Malfoy nodded. "And is he influential?"

Barty suddenly felt very reluctant to answer that. He knew what he'd been risking when he decided to get involved in this, but he didn't want to incriminate Gwen too. She just seemed too…_innocent _to get caught up in all this shit. Despite the fact he'd only approached her initially as she seemed to be exactly what he needed, he had to admit he was rather fond of her. When he was faced with Malfoy's question like that, he felt incredibly protective towards her. "Reasonably." It was the vaguest response he could give.

"And would he be open to persuasion?"

"No."

"The Imperius Curse, perhaps?"

_No fucking way. _"It's not the banker that's the problem, it's the bank's regulations."

Malfoy pursed his lips, seeming to have realised he'd reached a dead end. "Very well. I can put up the other half of the money for the time being, in order to meet Pettigrew's deadline, but I will expect you to pay me back."

Barty nodded, grateful that somehow he'd managed to find a way out of the tricky situation he was in. "I can agree to that."

"Consider it settled." Malfoy held out a hand, and Barty shook it stiffly. "Tuesday evening. You know where I'll be waiting for you," Malfoy said, before turning on his heels and exiting the room swiftly.

Barty remained standing by the filing cabinet for a few more moments, feeling a mixture of relief and unease. It seemed that the immediate crisis was for now diverted, and that Bellatrix wouldn't have to, as she'd put it, "punish him for making false promises to the Dark Lord." But he still knew he was a long way from being accepted.

He sat back down at his desk and tossed Macnair's file to the side before burying his head in his hands, realising he was still unable to concentrate any better than before.

**A/N: How was that for a change? Now you've got a better idea of what's going on. I think I might continue writing from Barty's POV for a bit, but I''ve not decided for definite yet. I might keep switching between him and Gwen. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: More Barty this chapter, so I hope you don't mind the absence of Gwen.**

**Chapter Sixteen**

Saturday morning passed slowly in the Crouch household. Crouch Sr was at work, as usual – he'd been working weekends for months as if there was no such thing as days off. His wife was feeling particularly ill today and so remained in bed for the duration of the morning, leaving Winky to complete the household chores that needed doing. Winky managed to be discreet, and all this meant the house was rather quiet and dead. Barty spent much of the morning sat alone in his room wondering what to do with himself. He spent most of the time thinking: thinking about the situation he found himself in with the Death Eaters, wondering what he was going to do about Lucius Malfoy, and also thinking a lot about Gwen. Even though he didn't want to admit it, she'd upset him a lot when she turned down his offer to go out one night next week. He'd thought she seemed interested him, but the way she'd been so dismissive towards him…it reminded him a lot of the way his father treated him. It felt like she thought he was of little importance. He knew he was being unfair: she'd been much nicer to him than most people he'd ever met and had been far more helpful than he could have expected, but he still didn't like feeling rejected. That was all people ever seemed to do: reject him. His father wasn't interested, nobody at Hogwarts would've cared if he didn't happen to have famous family name, and even the Dark Lord's followers didn't think he was worth anything.

Gwen had treated him differently, though, and that had surprised him. When he'd first met her he hadn't thought she was anything special, but she'd quickly managed to change his mind. Instead of just dismissing him as a pointless carbon copy of his father like everybody else did, she actually seemed interested in listening to him when he talked and didn't act as though she somehow knew better than him about everything. Everyone else – even his own father sometimes – seemed to regard him as just a useless addition to the Crouch family legacy and not a person in his own right, but Gwen wasn't like that. She actually respected his opinions and didn't have this horrible conceited attitude that she was always right – a trait that seemed far too prevalent among the many Ministry officials his father mixed with. As he remembered back to that evening they'd spent in the library together at Hogwarts he supposed he should really have picked up on it before. Yes, she'd disagreed with a lot of the things he'd said about it being natural for wizards to want to assert dominance over muggles, but she hadn't tried to make him feel stupid or worthless over it. Even now she seemed to be incredibly respectful of his right to do and think what he wanted, and if anything he thought she was being _too_trusting of him. He'd expected her to ask a lot more questions than she had done – she may have tried getting him to tell her what he was up to on a few occasions, but ultimately she'd minded her own business. She hadn't even seemed that suspicious of him when her sneakoscope had gone off. That had worried him, but thankfully she hadn't seemed too bothered by it. He didn't know the story behind it, but was grateful that she hadn't paid too much attention to it despite not knowing what he was up to.

He thought it was quite admirable actually, how she managed to not pester him for answers when she must surely be desperate to know what was going on, and Barty wished nosy bitches like Rita Skeeter would adopt that kind of attitude. He was grateful that Gwen had been as helpful to him as she had, but actually she'd been so accommodating he felt rather bad for using her like this. If she ever knew the truth though about what he was up to…well, that didn't bear thinking about. If he was going to have to keep secrets from her he wanted to make it up to her in other ways. Unfortunately, since she didn't seem to want to go out anywhere with him this week that probably wasn't going to be easy.

It had just passed twelve o' clock when Barty finally decided to go downstairs to get lunch. He hadn't bothered with breakfast as he hadn't been in the mood for it, but now he was feeling rather hungry. He was just sticking some cheese on toast under the grill when Winky shuffled into the kitchen with her mop. Noticing he was there she suddenly stopped what she was doing and crossed over to him. "Is you hungry, Master Barty sir?" she squeaked.

Feeling rather irritated and wishing she'd just leave him alone, he tried to fob her off. "I'm sorting it, Winky."

Not satisfied with his answer, she began fussing around and tried to take the grill handle off him. "Winky will do it for you, sir."

"Just get back to your housework, Winky," he snapped, perhaps a little more harshly than necessary.

She seemed a little shocked at the tone of his response, but backed away subserviently and gave a small nod. "Yes, sir," she said quietly, before picking up her mop and continuing to mop the floor.

Barty felt slightly bad about the way he'd treated her. He found her completely annoying most of the time – even when she was being useful – but he thought there probably wasn't any need for him to have been that nasty to her. As she reached the door and was about to begin cleaning the dining room he called out after her. "How's Mother, Winky?" He hoped his tone was less hostile than before.

She stopped to look at him. "She is sleeping now, sir."

That was all the response he was going to get, and realising this he nodded. "Alright, Winky. Carry on." He dismissed her with a wave of his hand and she continued into the dining room.

The toast finished grilling and levitated itself onto a plate before setting itself down on the kitchen table. Barty sat down and began to eat it while thinking about his mother. He hadn't seen her at all this morning, he realised. Part of him felt guilty about it, but he also didn't think he could face seeing her in that state now anyway. He'd used to make a point of ensuring she was looked after, making sure he spent plenty of time with her, especially on her bad days, but as the illness wore on he'd begun to find it soul destroying. He'd rather not see her at all than see her when she was in the worst state possible. There was something about it that just seemed so completely wrong: it made him feel incredibly frightened and uncomfortable. After all, she was his mother: she was supposed to look after him, not the other way round.

He was contemplating that further and wondering how he was supposed to feel about it when he heard a tapping at the kitchen window. Looking up, he noticed there was an owl on the outside tapping at the glass. It was a barn owl that he didn't recognise, but he suspected the letter it was carrying must be for him; nobody ever wrote to his mother and if anyone wanted to contact his father they knew to send an owl to him at work. As he stood up to go and collect the letter his stomach gave an excited squirm as it occurred to him that it might be from Gwen. Maybe she's changed her mind about going out after all. His hopes were quickly dashed however as he looked at the untidy, erratic handwriting that his named had been written in on the letter, and recognising it he gritted his teeth in contempt.

The owl flew off immediately after he'd collected the letter, and Barty realised the sender clearly didn't want to be tracked down. He unfolded the piece of parchment to see two sentences scrawled on it:

_One o' clock, the Islington safehouse. Come alone and tell no-one where you're going._

That was all it said, and Barty screwed up the letter in anger and swore under his breath. He didn't like being messed around like this, but he supposed he had no choice but to go as it was no doubt important. If, however, he got there and found that he'd wasted his time there was going to be hell to pay.

It wouldn't be difficult for him to get away. His mother was likely to stay in bed all day and Winky would be too busy cleaning to notice if he had disappeared, but he'd still have to come up with a cover story, just in case. He only had ten minutes, but apparating wouldn't be a problem. He headed into the cloakroom to collect his robes, and then, after having a final glance round to check Winky hadn't started cleaning nearby, he disapparated with the letter still scrunched into a ball in his hand.

**A/N: Ok, any guesses as to who he's meeting? Shall I switch back to Gwen POV next chapter and keep you all in suspense a little longer? Hmm, I've not decided if I'm that evil yet :P Hope you're enjoying this and you got a bit more of an insight into what Barty's thinking this chapter. Thanks to my reviewers!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I've opted to do a Gwen POV for this chapter, so just letting you know there's a POV switch again.**

**Chapter Seventeen**

When Saturday came round, Gwen found she had no idea what to do with herself. Work had kept her distracted until the end of Friday, but now she found she couldn't stop thinking of Barty. Partly because she wanted to know what he was up to, and partly because…well, she just liked thinking about him. The more she considered it, the more she couldn't work out why she'd said no when he'd asked if she wanted to go out. She did actually want to go out. She liked spending time with him, it was just that when he acted as strangely as he had been it worried her. No matter how hard she tried to tell herself it was none of her business, she couldn't help but feel concerned every time she thought about how nervous and secretive he was. If it was anybody else she'd probably have been happy to mind her own business, but when it was him…

Even though she knew she didn't have to be up early for work today, she'd been lying awake since seven preoccupied with thoughts of Barty. Some of the time she spent worrying if she'd upset him when she turned down his offer to go out, and then she wondered why she'd said no at all, and then started wondering what on earth was going on with him. In particular, she started wondering why the auroscope had started behaving that way around him. At first she'd thought it must be faulty, but then she supposed she'd made a pretty large leap of logic to come to that conclusion. But it was an even larger leap of logic still to think that Barty was somehow involved in dark magic. So why had the auroscope behaved that way? It was perfectly possible that something had been going on nearby that had nothing to do with her or Barty, but for some reason that explanation didn't quite feel right.

Gwen had kept the auroscope on her bedside cabinet, and she rolled over now in bed to pick it up and examine it. It was quite a pretty thing, actually, with its silver swirls set in black rock, like a decorative sneakoscope. Pretty things usually were less functional, she supposed, but she still didn't like to think that just because it looked nice the auroscope didn't work properly. _That would be terrible for Sander. _He seemed like such a nice guy and she really wanted his business to do well, but so far this auroscope had only succeeded in confusing her rather than being of use to her. Maybe she should ask him about it next time she saw him; after all, she still didn't know all that much about Dutch Argentite. Perhaps it had been reacting to the magical waste bins nearby? But that didn't really explain why it had started whistling around Barty or why it hadn't started glowing blue until after he'd disapparated. She just didn't understand it. She'd have to ask Sander next time she saw him.

She twirled the auroscope round in her hand and smiled at the thought of meeting Sander again. Maybe he'd want to go for another ice cream? Unprofessional though it was, she couldn't help but think that would be rather nice. Immediately after thinking it though she felt guilty. So she was thinking how nice it would be to have ice cream with Sander, but had turned down the offer to go out with Barty. That was hardly being fair now, was it? She put down the auroscope and chewed her lip worriedly. _Sander is your client, _she told herself, _that is all. Barty is…well, I'm not sure _what _Barty is, but I think it's more than just that. He's the one you need to be worrying about. _

Realising that just laying here in bed and letting her thoughts go round in circles wasn't doing her any good, Gwen decided to get out of bed and head downstairs to see if the Saturday copy of the _Daily Prophet _had arrived yet. As she entered the kitchen she noticed that the delivery owl had indeed left the paper on the window sill, and she picked it up to read while she ate her cereal. There wasn't much in it of interest to her. There were the updated lists of witches and wizards who had been reported missing and those who had been arrested, but her mother was more up to date with that at work than the paper was. There was a mildly interesting article about a meteor shower due to occur next week, but it wasn't until she'd almost reached the back of the paper that something caught her interest. '_Romance in the air for Crouch?' _The moment she first caught sight of the headline she'd had to do a double take to ensure she'd read it right. It didn't mean Barty, did it? Well, she doubted it would mean Crouch Sr. This couldn't be about her?

She scanned the article with a growing sense of apprehension. _Following our reports last week that Bartemius Crouch Jr will not be taking his father's old position of Auror Co-ordinator, it appears the reason for this may be that he has other things on his mind. He was spotted on Thursday evening meeting an attractive brunette round the back of a store on Diagon Alley…_

Gwen couldn't help but scoff at that. _Attractive brunette? _That really wasn't how she'd describe herself, but at least the article was being complimentary. Still though, what the fuck…?

_The identity of the girl in question has not been confirmed, but Crouch appears to be quite keen to keep her a secret. Could this be because she has not had approval from his father?..._

Gwen stared at the article in disbelief. She wasn't sure she wanted to read any more. How the fuck had anybody found out about her and Barty? It was nobody else's business! As she glanced at the name of the reporter a sudden realisation came over her and her hands clenched into fists. _Rita Skeeter. _That _bitch. _This was just the sort of thing that Gwen thought she could expect of her. But how had she _known _though? There had been nobody else around.

She needed to see Barty about this. Quickly. What time was it? Just past nine o' clock. She could head over to his house now, it wasn't too early. Merlin, what a mess they were in. She thought her own parents wouldn't mind too much, but she dreaded to think how Barty's father would react. Oh crap, she wasn't even dressed yet and she needed to get ready. She was about to head back upstairs in a state of panic when her mother entered the kitchen and greeted her rather sleepily. "Morning, Gwen."

Gwen stopped still where she was. "Morning, Mum." _I should tell her, _she thought, but she didn't really want to. Her mother probably wouldn't understand why the situation was so bad, if anything she'd get all excited over it and think it was a good thing. Gwen thought she probably shouldn't mention it. She sat back down at the table and tried to act naturally, all the while hoping she could get away from her mother as soon as possible.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating, but as you are probably aware the update feature crashed. It's started working again for me now though, so I hope you like this chapter :)**

**Chapter Eighteen**

The house appeared empty when Barty first arrived, but he knew it was unlikely that that was truly the case. It was a foul little place – dark, damp and filthy, and there were plenty of places for someone to hide. Even more places for rats, and Barty suspected that he was probably being watched right now as he walked into the kitchen. Glancing round, there didn't seem to be anything unusual about the room other than the fact that every surface was caked in dust and grime and there were cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. It was only to be expected: the house hadn't been lived in for years and Death Eaters didn't employ cleaners.

Barty took a few steps further into the room and his footsteps seemed unnaturally loud in the dead silence. He felt both annoyed at having to be here at all and rather apprehensive as to what it might be about, and licked his lips nervously. A few moments after he stopped in the middle of the floor, he heard a noise behind him and turned round to see a rat scurrying across the floor. Within a few seconds of his gaze landing on it it had transformed from a mangy little brown rat to a small, weedy looking man who now stood facing Barty. "Crouch, I'm glad you came," he squeaked.

"Why am I here, Pettrigrew?" Barty asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

Pettigrew gave a nervous laugh. "Surely you've worked that out?"

"No," Barty replied bluntly, as if Pettigrew wasn't worth his time to do any working out about.

"Well," Pettigrew looked as if he didn't want to say it out loud, "They're…they're going to kill me!"

Barty shrugged, "You should've thought of that before you asked for such a ridiculous amount of money."

"But I don't want to die."

Barty gave him an exasperated look, "And what exactly do you expect me to do about it?"

"You could persuade them to let me live." He sounded pleading.

"Why should I?"

"Because if you don't you'll be the one losing out. They won't give you the money back once they've finished with me."

Barty glared at him. "Then tell them you don't want the money, that you'll give us the information out of loyalty, and then maybe the Dark Lord will let you live."

"I…I can't," Pettigrew stammered.

"Then what the fuck did you come to me for?"

"Because…" Pettigrew seemed rather frightened of Barty's temper, and justifiably so. "Because you managed to persuade them to let _you _live. Really they should have killed you on sight, but somehow you persuaded Him to mark you. I need you to do that for me."

Barty's eyes flashed dangerously. He was tempted just to put a body bind curse on Pettigrew right now and leave him here for somebody else to find. "What exactly would I get out of it?"

"I can pay you the money back." He sounded desperate. "Not straight away, but I'd get it all back to you eventually, plus interest if you like."

Barty eyed him suspiciously. "What do you need the money for anyway?"

Pettigrew seemed reluctant to answer. "Well, you know I found it difficult to get a job, and it just, um…it was just for, well, later in life."

Barty studied him and then shook his head. "I don't buy it. There's got to be more to it than that. What exactly is this for?"

The response came as a squeak. "What do you mean?"

"I don't believe for a second that you just wanted ten thousand galleons because you thought it would make life easier if you couldn't find work. Why would you risk your life by entering into a contract with the Dark Lord and agreeing to sell out your lifelong friends – who, let's face it Peter, are the only ones who ever gave a toss about you – just because you fancied a bit of extra cash? There's got to be more to it than that."

Pettigrew looked cornered, and he gave a rather pathetic reply. "It's personal."

Barty laughed unsympathetically, "Oh really?"

"Yes! I really can't tell you, I'm sorry. Please just trust me."

"I find it a little hard to trust you when you won't tell me what you're up to. I don't think I'd have anything to gain by defending you to the Dark Lord if you're just going to keep secrets from me."

"Like you aren't keeping secrets from anybody?"

Barty had to admit he had a point, but Pettigrew's attitude still irked him. "However, unlike you, I'm keeping secrets from the _opposite_ side. Who's side are _you_ on, Pettigrew? Do you actually want to help us or are you just here to work for Dumbledore after all? In which case…"

Barty brandished his wand and Pettigrew suddenly looked very scared. "No, no! I swear Dumbledore knows nothing about this."

Barty hesitated with his wand still pointed at Pettigrew. "Good. Then are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"No…yes, but, wait…." He seemed to be searching for an answer, but then made his move so quickly Barty didn't have time to react. Pettigrew seemed to produce his wand from nowhere and immediately directed a curse at Barty, who tried to retaliate by firing one back but missed as Pettigrew transformed back into a rat. The curse hit him and knocked him backwards, and as he tried to get to get up he put a hand to his face and realised it came away coated in blood. Still on the floor, he noticed the rat scampering round the edges of the kitchen and he fired three more spells at it, but missed every time. It moved too quickly for him, and suddenly he realised it had transformed again and Pettigrew was now standing over him. He was about to try another curse but once again Pettigrew was faster, _"Expelliarmus!"_ Barty felt his wand wrenched out of his hand and he watched as it flew through the air and landed on the other side of the room. He tried to get up and go after it but realised he seemed to be stuck to the floor: Pettigrew's curse prevented him from raising himself any more than a few inches off the ground.

How had he allowed this to happen? Pettigrew wasn't supposed to be that good; even if he'd hung around with Black and Potter and Lupin he'd still only performed half as well as Barty had on his NEWTs. He wondered how he had managed to let himself be overpowered by this imbecile. Pettigrew really was a sneaky little bastard.

Barty glared up at the man now standing over him and spat, "Fuck you."

Pettigrew leaned closer to him and laughed, holding his wand very close to Barty's face. "You will persuade the Dark Lord not to send his Death Eaters after me, or I will _rat you out _to your father, boy, so to speak. You understand?"

Barty just snarled, but Pettigrew seemed satisfied. "Good." And with that he transformed back into a rat and ran off, leaving Barty still stuck lying on the floor.

**A/N: Yes, I have written a badass!Peter, but I always imagined he could be pretty BAMF-y when he needed to be. He did, after all, cut off his own finger and then blow apart an entire street with the wand behind his back, then later on managed to single-handedly track down the most powerful dark wizard of all time and help return him to him to power. Not to mention he succeeded in becoming an animagus in his teens without the authorities ever finding out. So yes, I think Peter qualifies as a badass, even though he is quite often portrayed as being rather wimpy in the books. He may be a self-preserving coward in many respects, but he's not a weakling and I think many people, including fans of the Harry Potter series, underestimate him. I'm a bit of a Peter fan, if I'm honest. Not because I like him, but because I think he's a fascinating character that JK really could have utilised well if she'd been inclined to focus more on the minor characters in the books. I feel the same way about Barty, actually: he had so much potential in the books but there was never really chance to see his character develop before he got finished off. That's a major reason why I'm writing this; so I can explore the various possibilities with excellent characters that I think got (albeit necessarily) overlooked in the HP series.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Unfortunately the insane weekly maths workload has commenced, so updates will be less frequent from now on, I'm afraid. Hope nobody minds too much.**

**Chapter Nineteen**

It was gone one o' clock by the time Gwen finally managed to get out of the house and apparate to outside Barty's front door. Her mother had spent the entire morning trying to persuade Gwen to go with her to Hogsmeade to do some shopping for her Grandmother's birthday present, but Gwen had insisted she already had plans. When her mother seemed keen to know what they were, Gwen had botched some story together about needing to go shopping on her own, which her mother hadn't been buying until her father had helpfully pointed out, "I think Gwen needs to do some shopping for your birthday, dear, it really wouldn't be very helpful if you went with her." Gwen didn't think her father believed her story either, but she was grateful he seemed happy to let her do her own thing without interfering. He at least treated her like an adult, whereas her mother still seemed to think she was thirteen.

After Gwen had knocked on the door of the Crouches' house several moments passed in silence, and Gwen began to wonder if there was anybody in. She knew Crouch Sr. was probably at work, but couldn't think where else the other Crouches might be if not at home. Her speculation on this was interrupted however by the door opening a crack, and Gwen looked down to see her knocking had been answered by the house elf.

"Hi," Gwen said rather awkwardly, "I'm looking for Barty Crouch Jr. Is he in?"

The house elf gave her a rather suspicious look. "Who is it who is calling, miss?"

"Tell him it's Gwen," she said, then thought that was too familiar and added, "From the bank."

"One moment, miss," the house elf said, and then closed the door as she went to find her master.

Gwen stood at the door and rocked back and forth on her heels impatiently, wondering how she was going to explain the article to Barty. That was, of course, assuming he hadn't already read it. She thought the house elf was taking a rather long time and she began to grow agitated. The house was big, but not _so _big that it should take this long to find one of its inhabitants.

A few minutes later the door opened again and Gwen was disappointed to see it was still just the house elf. "Sorry miss, he is not in."

"Oh," _Where was he then? _Gwen wondered what she was supposed to do know. "Do you know when he'll be back?"

"No, sorry, miss."

"Well, what if I came back tomorrow?" She'd rather see him today, but it didn't look like that was going to be possible.

"Mister Crouch would not appreciate that, miss."

What did she mean by that? "He wouldn't?"

"Tomorrow is Sunday, miss," the house elf said, as if that explained everything.

"Well, could you tell him I called. And ask if he'll come into the office on Monday." Monday felt like a long way off, but she thought she wasn't going to be able to make contact with him this weekend. He'd said he'd see her Monday anyway, so he probably would have read the article by then. Damn.

"Ok, miss. Goodbye, miss," the house elf said rather quickly before closing the door in her face. Gwen thought it was rather odd behaviour for a house elf, then the thought occurred to her that maybe the Crouch family had already seen the article and that was why they didn't want her to see Barty. But it still seemed a little odd that they'd send the house elf to answer the door, and she doubted that Barty would let that article stop him from seeing her. If anything, he would probably do the exact opposite.

It was all a little odd, Gwen thought, although it was possible Barty had just gone out without telling the house elf when he'd be back. She'd just have to wait until Monday to see him, and she hoped the _Prophet _didn't kick up any more of a fuss about them in the mean time.

As she walked down the garden path another thought occurred to her and she groaned. Now she _was _actually going to have to go shopping for her mother's birthday present if she wanted her cover story to be believable. And given how notoriously difficult her mother was to buy presents for, that probably wasn't going to be fun.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

It took almost an hour for the curse to wear off completely and Barty gingerly got to his feet, feeling the wound on the side of his face. "Fuck," he muttered to himself, then again louder, "Fuck!" Pettigrew was a bastard, and Barty didn't think he had any choice but to do what was asked of him now. Despite the fact the rat-man looked like a useless, weedy little thing Barty didn't think he would be easy to kill. If Pettigrew thought the Death Eaters were after him he wouldn't hesitate to hand him over to the aurors. Fuck, he didn't even seem to have any qualms about handing his best friends over to the Dark Lord. Which meant Barty had to protect him, whether he liked it or not, for his own sake. The sneaky, self-preserving little bastard…

Still livid with Pettigrew and furious at the situation he now found himself in, he gave the door a brutal kick as he headed into the bathroom. There was a mirror over the wash basin – albeit a very grimy one, but Barty quickly resolved that with a wave of his wand. He leant forward to examine the cut on his cheek and grimaced as he noticed how deep it was. Pettigrew sure knew some nasty curses. He raised his wand to the side of his face and hesitated for a moment before attempting the healing charm. He hadn't much experience of using this sort of magic, but he couldn't exactly go home looking like this. Muttering the incantation of the charm very softly, he moved the tip of his wand closer to his skin and winced as he felt the wound fuse back together. It took him a couple of minutes to complete the spell, but after he was finished there was only a very faint pink line where the cut had been. Hopefully it wasn't too noticeable and nobody would ask any questions.

The blood on his clothes was much easier to take care of with a simple cleaning charm, and once he had cleaned that up Barty apparated straight back home. He'd been gone much longer than anticipated and hoped nobody had noticed. When he arrived back he went straight to his bedroom and hoped Winky wouldn't bother him there, but it was just his luck she'd only just started cleaning the first floor. About fifteen minutes after his arrival she bustled into his bedroom with a feather duster, and let out a squeal of surprise when she noticed him sitting on the bed. "Master Barty! You is back, sir!"

Barty scowled at her. "Have I been anywhere?" he said irritably, hoping to throw her off the trail. How had she noticed?

"Someone called for Master Barty earlier, sir," Winky continued, ignoring his hostile tone.

Barty frowned and wondered who it might have been. If it was Malfoy…that git should know better than to call on him at home by now. "Who?"

"A Miss Gwen From The Bank, sir."

At Winky's reply his heart gave a little leap. So she was still interested then? Damn Pettigrew, why couldn't he have chosen a better time for his meeting? The anger he was already feeling towards the rat-man increased significantly. "What did she say?"

"She asked if you would call into her office on Monday, sir."

_I was going to do that anyway, _he thought, but if she wanted to see him he didn't want to wait that long. "I'll go round and see her tomorrow."

"No, Master Barty! Winky doesn't think Mister Crouch would want that."

She seemed pretty horrified that he had suggested it, and Barty glowered, "To hell with what he wants."

Winky shook her head. "Please, sir. Mister Crouch told Winky this morning he would like his family to stay at home tomorrow. It seems important, Master Barty, please don't upset him."

She almost seemed to be pleading with him, and he paused to consider the situation. Normally, he would have loved nothing more than to annoy the hell out of his father, but given the situation he was in with the Death Eaters at the moment it was probably best for him to wait until after Tuesday evening. He couldn't imagine why his father would want him to be at home tomorrow when it made no difference to Crouch Sr work, but Winky was right, Barty shouldn't risk upsetting him right now. "Ok, fine."

Winky nodded. "Should Winky come back and clean in here later, sir?"

Barty felt like replying, "Yes, just piss off and leave me alone," but he knew there was no need for it. "No, it's fine," he said instead, clambering off the bed, "You clean in here now. I'll move."

He got up and headed to towards the landing to allow Winky and her feather duster free reign in his room, but she called out after him as she reached the door. "Master Barty, where was it you was when Winky couldn't find you earlier?"

He paused a moment before answering, "I'd just gone out for a walk," he said, before heading off down the landing towards the stairs. It was a bit of a crap excuse, but he knew Winky wasn't likely to ask any more questions.

As he passed the door to his mother's room he paused, considering going inside. He'd been intending to just go downstairs and find something else to occupy himself with, but he thought he probably ought to see her, since he hadn't done all day. Even if he didn't like sitting beside her and having to watch when she was in one of her worse states, he did generally make a point of seeing her every day, just so she knew he was there. Deciding to enter the room, he gave a gentle knock and called out softly, "Mother?" There wasn't a reply, but he hadn't really been expecting one. Deciding to go in anyway, he gently pushed the door open and crept quietly into the room. The curtains were closed to ensure the room remained dark, but there was just enough light for him to see by. Pausing beside the bed, he looked down at the figure curled up underneath the covers. There was no response as he muttered "Mother" again, and he realised she was sleeping. It was probably better this way, he thought. Sleep didn't exactly make her look healthy, but it did make her look…peaceful. When she was sleeping he could almost convince himself everything was alright.

He decided to sit down on the chair beside the bed and have five minutes with her. It was easier like this, when she wasn't awake. If she was sleeping she couldn't look at him with those large brown eyes and that apologetic expression, as if she was sorry for being ill and sorry that it made things so hard on him. "It's not your fault," he wanted to say to her, but the words never came out. It _wasn't _her fault, but that still didn't change the fact he resented that neither of his parents had ever properly looked after him: one because she wasn't able to, the other simply because he didn't care to.

He sighed as he looked at her, wishing that she could just be alright. Even with all the magic in the world they didn't seem to be able to cure her. She seemed very small, he thought, lost in the mass of pillows and the pluffiness of the duvet like she might be crushed by it. Even in sleep she looked ill – pale skin drawn taught over sharp bones, straw coloured hair thin and wispy as it splayed out across the pillow. No matter how much he tried to pretend everything would be alright, he knew that wasn't the case. He began to wonder what she would think if she knew the truth about him, but immediately stopped himself. _No, you can't think like that. She won't find out. Nobody will find out until it's too late. _But he couldn't stop his mind from adding, _by the time they find out she'll be dead. _He felt a lump forming in his throat and thought he should leave. He didn't want to do this. He wasn't going to cry: he'd promised himself from the start he wasn't going to cry. He had to accept that she was going to die, and it was going to happen soon, so he may as well just get used to that fact. Crying wouldn't help.

That didn't mean he didn't feel the emotions though, no matter how hard he tried to hide them. He reached out to take her hand that was lying on top of the covers and gave it a gentle squeeze. It felt bony and fragile in his grip. "Love you, mum," he whispered, before getting up and leaving the room, closing the door gently behind him.

**A/N: Hope that last part wasn't too mushy, but I wanted to show the contrast between the way Barty feels about his father and his mother. I'm hoping there'll be more action coming up in the next chapters as I'm approaching a pivotal point in the story. I think some of you might be able to work out what it is. Hope you enjoyed and thanks to my reviewers.**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: According to my stats page, in the month of March this story had precisely 666 visitors. Awesome!**

**Chapter Twenty-One**

When Gwen arrived back home her mother was, thankfully, still out on her shopping trip. Her father, however, was sat in the living room reading his book. He greeted her as she entered the room and set down her shopping by the coffee table. "Interesting article I read about you and Crouch in the paper, Gwen."

She froze just as she was taking her grandmother's present out of its bag. "You read that?"

He shrugged. "Sure, I saw it after you'd gone out. Made everything make a lot more sense, actually. I take it you went to see him?"

She shook her head, "He wasn't in."

He didn't seem too bothered. "Not to worry, I'm sure it won't cause much of a fuss anyway."

"You think it won't?"

He shrugged again. "Anybody who values anything Rita Skeeter writes isn't worth worrying about. And don't tell your mother I said that."

She sat down on the sofa, feeling slightly better now she knew her father wasn't bothered by it, but still rather worried. "But I don't think he's told his parents about me. What if his father doesn't approve?"

John set down his book to look at his daughter properly. "Gwen, I know Barty Crouch Sr. personally, and trust me, he won't mind you dating his son in the slightest."

That definitely made her feel better. "Really?"

"Really. As girlfriends go I think you'd get his gold seal of approval. Not that that's what matters, of course. What matters is that you're happy with Barty."

"I am," Gwen replied rather quickly. _Or at least I think I am._

Her father nodded. "Good. Then don't let Rita Skeeter spoil things for you."

"I won't."

He smiled. "And don't let your mother put any daft ideas into your head either. She'll spend ages getting all excited about it before she realises how much of that article is complete drivel. He _hasn't _asked you to marry him, has he?"

Recalling that particularly absurd line of speculation in the article, Gwen laughed, "No, Dad, he hasn't."

"Glad to hear it, otherwise I might actually think things were moving too fast." He watched as she continued to carefully take the present out of its bag. It was a tall cylindrical object that had several branches coming out of it at the top, each with a little cup attached to the end of it by a chain. John didn't think he recognised it. "That for your mother?"

Gwen shook her head. "It's for grandma. It's a set of Brewer's Scales. Lets you can way multiple ingredients at the same time in the right proportions for a potion."

John nodded. "My mother will love that. So what did you get your mum?"

"Nothing yet. I was going to get her a foe glass, but I had a better idea."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, well, I'm still going to get her a dark detector, but it's going to be an even better one. It's, well…just wait and see."

He looked thoughtful as he tried to guess what it might be. "Intriguing. If I have to wait to find out then I'm looking forward to your mother's birthday."

"Not half as much as she is."

He laughed. "Indeed." He picked up his book again and went back to reading while Gwen searched for a blank piece of parchment and some ink and a quill. Once she'd found some in a drawer in the kitchen she sat down at the table to write her letter. It _had_ actually been a good idea, she thought. Even as she'd been trawling through the shops in Diagon Alley she knew her mother would enjoy getting a present that was just a little more exclusive. She just hoped she wasn't being too cheeky by asking for it.

Gwen set the dipped the quill in the ink and began to write.

_Dear Sander,_

_It's Gwen. I'm not writing about work (although that is going fine too) but I would like to ask you for a favour. Would I be able to buy a foe glass off you? My mother works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and I thought it would be a good present for her birthday. I know you haven't officially opened any stores in the UK yet, but I'd really appreciate it if you could let me buy one._

_Many thanks,_

_Gwen_

She read the letter back to herself and frowned slightly, wondering if it was appropriate to be this informal when she'd only met him once. Honestly though, she didn't think he would mind. He was the one who'd invited her to go for an ice cream and had given her his pocket auroscope.

She folded up the letter and gave it to Eric, who she instructed to deliver it to the address she'd been given for DDD's London HQ. She hoped that was where Sander was, as she didn't much fancy sending the poor owl all the way over the North Sea.

She hadn't been expecting a response for a couple of days, and so was immensely surprised when Eric showed up again only a couple of hours later clutching a letter in his beak. She gave him a cockroach cluster for his efforts and eagerly unfolded the letter to read:

_Dear Gwen,_

_Sure, that's no problem. I'll call round and bring you one on Monday._

_Sander_

She was pretty shocked at his response. He was going to call round on Monday? That was…well, it was astounding. She thought that she must surely be inconveniencing him for him to come round at such short notice, but since he had offered she thought it would be rude if she wrote back now telling him not to. For some reason, the thought that she was going to see Sander again on Monday made her immensely happy, and even when her mother showed up again later and started trying to get her to dish the dirt on that _Daily Prophet _article, that still did nothing to make her feel any less elated.

**A/N: So Sander is visiting Gwen on Monday. And Barty is visiting Gwen on Monday. I am going to have so much fun writing that :) I'm going to cover Sunday in the Crouch household first though, so I hope you don't mind waiting just that little bit longer for them to finally meet. Thanks to my two great reviewers, Musicunderground and sara253xxx. I'd really appreciate it if anybody else wanted to review as well.**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: I think I'm going to end up rewriting most of this story once it's finished. Glancing back, there is so much I'm not entirely happy with, but for now I'm going to press on and hope other people like it.  
**

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

When Barty got out of bed and came downstairs on Sunday morning he was surprised to find his father in the kitchen making breakfast. "Shouldn't you be at work?" was the first thing Barty said to him.

Crouch looked up at his son who had just entered the room. "Not today. Brunwick is overseeing the Department and he's the most reliable man I've got. It seems like I haven't really spent any time with you or your mother in months, so I don't think it would hurt for me to take advantage of just _one _of the Sundays I'm not contracted to work."

Barty almost wanted to laugh and wondered vaguely if he was dreaming. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with my father?"

Crouch frowned at his son. "That's not a joke, Barty. One day I may well come home under the influence of the Imperius Curse or have a Death Eater impersonate me using Polyjuice Potion, and you need to be able to recognise it when it happens."

_Overreacting much, _Barty thought. His father just didn't understand him at all. "Why would I need to recognise it? It's not like I ever see you."

Crouch sighed wearily. "Not today Barty, please. You want to argue with me all the time, but I'd hoped today would be different."

Barty knew the longer he stood here talking to his father like this the angrier he would get, but he wasn't able to walk away. "Why should today be any different? Because you want to spend it with your family? For most people that's considered the norm."

"Barty!...please." Crouch had raised his voice on the first word, but calmed himself down to utter the final syllable. "I've made your mother breakfast in bed. Would you go upstairs and see if she's finished."

Barty glared. "You mean you got Winky to make it."

His father responded by glaring back. "No, I mean _I _made it. Now will you please do as you're asked."

"Yes, father," Barty said icily before heading back out of the room. What on earth had all that been about? He couldn't work out what had prompted his father to suddenly turn into somebody who would rather spend time at home than at work – it just wasn't right at all. He wondered briefly if Pettigrew had gone ahead with his threat and somehow done something to alert his father to Barty's odd behaviour, but if that was the case this was the bizarrest way Barty could have imagined his father reacting to it. Besides, Winky had said he'd been planning this since yesterday morning before Barty went to meet Pettigrew. So what had prompted it? Unable to decipher it, Barty shook his head, deciding that this one change in behaviour didn't make the man any less of a git. As he reached his mother's bedroom door, however, he made a conscious effort to hide the contempt he felt before knocking and entering the room.

"Mother? How are you?" He was relieved to see she was sat up in bed and seemed to be enjoying her breakfast heartily, and she looked up and smiled at him when he entered the room. Despite the fact he was still angry with his father that definitely made him feel better.

"I'm very well this morning, Barty, thank you. Tell your father this is a delicious breakfast."

He gritted his teeth. "I will."

She continued to smile warmly at him. "I think I'll be well enough to come downstairs later as well. Your father wants us to eat dinner together, I believe."

"Does he?" Barty said, beginning to think that maybe they were both in on this 'happy families' conspiracy together.

"Yes, I think that's a lovely idea since we haven't done it for so long."

Barty thought it was a terrible idea, but didn't want to say anything to upset her. "Have you finished with your tray, mum?"

Elizabeth Crouch looked down at her half eaten boiled egg and toast. "Erm…not yet, thank you."

"Do you want me to wait with you until you're done?"

She gave him a knowing look. "You're trying to avoid going downstairs to your father aren't you?"

"No," he answered too quickly for it to be believable, and she looked at him the way a mother looks at a lying child. "Well, yes, but he asked me to check on you."

She sighed and shook her head. "Go and get your breakfast Barty, I'll get Winky to help me when I'm done. And please don't be mad with your father, he only means well."

Barty felt the foul mood he was in yesterday returning and he glowered as he left the room. "Yes, mother," he said stiffly, semi-slamming the door on his way out.

-oOo-

Barty didn't get to find out until much later why his father suddenly insisted on taking the day off work to spend time at home. Crouch Sr had told them they were all going to have dinner together round the dining table 'so they could have a proper family conversation with each other', and although Barty found the prospect of it completely tedious he wanted to get to the bottom of his father's odd behaviour. The explanation came about half way through the meal.

"So, Barty," Crouch Sr. said after finishing a mouthful of steak, "Have you been seeing anybody recently?"

Barty eyed him suspiciously. He couldn't possibly be referring to his meetings with the Death Eaters, could he? Had Malfoy said something? They certainly saw each other often enough that Malfoy might accidentally-on purpose let something slip, although Barty couldn't think why on earth he'd do that. "What do you mean?"

"Well, what about this girl I was reading about in the _Prophet _yesterday?"

_What? _There was a pause as he tried to work out what his father was on about, then realised he couldn't. "What?"

"Well, who's the girl they reported seeing you with on Thursday?"

_Wait, somebody saw me and Gwen? How? _"What's it got to do with you?"

His father's eyes flashed angrily. "Barty…"

His mother interrupted before they could start an argument. "Your father's just showing an interest Barty."

Barty glared back at both of them. "Well, it isn't anybody's business but mine and hers."

"I'm only trying to take an interest in whether you've got a girlfriend or not," Crouch snapped.

Barty glowered at him across the table. "Has it occurred to you that maybe she hasn't said she's alright with me telling you about her yet? I don't think she really wants our relationship broadcast to the world and its neighbour."

Crouch sat staring at his son in angry silence, but his mother tried to be the diplomat. "I think it's very nice of you to think like that Barty, but no harm can come of telling your parents about her."

Barty didn't have chance to respond to that before his father started up again. "Why should she mind? She's not some cheap tart is she?"

Barty clenched his fists. "No she…isn't." He had to catch his tongue to prevent himself from saying 'fucking'. If it had only been his father present he wouldn't have cared, but he didn't want to offend his mother.

"Then what's the problem?"

Barty played with his knife and licked his lips as he realised he wasn't going to be able to avoid answering. "Nothing…she's really nice. You've met her, actually; it's Gwen from the party."

Crouch Sr. raised an eyebrow. "Coulthard's girl? She seemed alright."

"She's more than alright."

"Then why were you meeting her in an alleyway round the back of Flourish and Blotts?"

_Oh, piss off you nosy sod. _"Because I didn't want everybody sticking their nose in!" Barty shouted, his anger bursting out.

His father looked ready to shout back but once again his mother intervened, "Barty, I know it's not pleasant having the media constantly analyse every aspect of your life, but you'll have to get used to it. What's reported in the papers isn't important as long as you're able to talk about it with us."

Setting down his cutlery, Barty sighed. "Talk about it with you? I'm sorry, mum, but don't be ridiculous. Never mind me, you've got yourself to worry about" – he then rounded on Crouch Sr. – "and _you _seem to think you've got the entire rest of the world to worry about. I mean this," – he gestured at the table set up for Sunday dinner around them – "this is a complete joke. It's only come about because you've suddenly realised there's one aspect of my life you knew nothing about and now you're sticking your nose in just because you don't like to think you're not in complete control of me anymore. Once you've established that I'm not going to do anything to ruin your precious reputation everything's just going to go back to being the way it was before and you won't give a toss about me. It's all just a big power game with you, isn't it? Making sure you've got all the little pieces of your life lined up and under control. Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not playing." And with that he stood up from the table and stormed out of the room. His father made no attempt to follow him, but instead went back to eating his dinner in silence, and rather timidly his mother followed suit. Barty didn't speak to either of them again for the rest of the evening.

**A/N: Coming up next chapter: Barty vs Sander: Round I. I can't wait to write that! XD**

**This story looks set to be looonnng; about the same length as one of the later Harry Potter novels. I think I'm only about a third of the way through already. Lol, if I'm no longer getting any reviews by chapter sixty I'll know you've all got sick of it :P Thanks to everyone who reviewed.**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: It's the easter holidays now so hopefully I'm going to be able to get a lot of writing done :)**

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

There was a familiar face waiting for Gwen when she arrived at work on Monday morning. He'd been sat in the chair outside her office door holding a large black bag, but upon noticing her approaching he got up and gave her a look of mock annoyance. "Where've you been? I've been waiting ages. You do start at nine, don't you?"

"Time difference, Sander," she pointed out with a smile.

A look of realisation spread across his face. "I forgot about that again, didn't I?"

"Yep."

"Note to self: must remember UK is one hour behind Nederlands."

She laughed as she opened the door to her office and led him inside. "Aren't you staying in London anyway? That's where I sent the letter to."

He shook his head. "Only on weekdays. I go back to Amsterdam at weekends, but I thought I'd get here early this morning and surprise you. Looks like I might've been a little _too _early though."

"You _weren't_ waiting long, were you?"

"Nah, just half an hour. It's not a problem."

She smiled. "Somebody needs to buy you two watches. One with UK time and one with Dutch time."

"That would be a good idea, wouldn't it?" he said as he lifted the bag he'd been carrying and placed it down on her desk. He opened it and took out a flat leather case, which he then unzipped and took out its contents. "Here you go: one argentite-lacquer foe glass. Hope it's as good as you were expecting." He stood it on the desk so it was facing them.

Gwen bent closer to examine it, admiring its silvery sheen and looking at the blurry shapes moving around in the glass. "It's great, my mum'll love it. How much do I owe you for it?"

He thought about that for a moment. "Well, the normal retail price would be 120 galleons, but since it's you you can have it for seventy."

She wished he wouldn't do that. "No, Sander, you've already given me the auroscope. I have to pay you properly for this one."

"Ninety, then."

"120."

He considered her answer. "Alright, but I'll throw in the case and the cleaning set, and you have to let me buy you another ice cream later. Deal?"

She smiled. Why did he have to be so nice? "Deal. Is it alright if I pay you by cheque?"

"Sure."

"I think my chequebook's somewhere in here," she said as she walked round to the back of the desk and started rummaging in one of the drawers.

Sander laughed. "You work in a bank and you don't know where your chequebook is?"

"I know it's here _somewhere, _I just have quite a lot of stuff in these drawers."

He looked down at the masses of paperwork and stationery. "You don't say."

"Gwen?" At the sound of the voice from the direction of the doorway they both looked round to see who it was.

As she recognised the blond mop of hair Gwen felt slightly surprised. "Barty? I wasn't expecting you until later."

"I'm supposed to be working. I thought it would be best to come before anybody thinks to check up on me," he explained, but was looking at Sander rather than her as he said it. Sander didn't say anything back, but seemed to be watching him cautiously.

Noticing the atmosphere seemed rather awkward, Gwen tried to break the silence. "Um, Barty this is Sander, he's one of my clients. Sander, this is Barty," she said to introduce them, and it was Sander who held out his hand in the offer of a handshake which Barty accepted rather coolly.

"Pleased to meet you," Sander said in a friendly that tone that seemed only half genuine, whereas Barty's response of "Likewise," seemed even more forced.

"Right," Gwen said, recognising the immediate dislike they'd taken to each other, "Um, Barty I'm just sorting something out. Is it alright if I'm with you in five minutes?"

"Sure," he said, although his tone indicated he'd much rather speak with her at that very instant. She'd hoped he would go back outside to wait in the corridor, but instead he remained standing in the office as he waited for her to finish with Sander.

She went back to searching for he chequebook. "Sorry about this," she said as she realised she couldn't find it, and pulled out her wand, "_Accio _chequebook." There was the sound of something moving around inside the various drawers in the desk, but nothing reached her hand. "Damn."

Sander shrugged. "It doesn't matter, you can pay me later Gwen. We _are_ still meeting for that ice cream, right?"

"Yeah, if that's okay with you," she replied, although she glanced across to gauge Barty's reaction as she said it. She felt bad agreeing to have an ice cream with someone else in front of him when she'd turned him down last week.

"Ok, see you at lunch Gwen," Sander said as he headed towards the door.

Barty then crossed to the desk to stand in front of Gwen. "You wanted to see me?"

"One moment," she said, glancing behind him to where Sander was stood hesitating in the doorway. "Sander, he's a client. This is…confidential."

Sander nodded, but gave Barty a rather hostile look. "Ok, I'm going," he said, before heading off down the corridor.

Gwen turned back to Barty. "Sorry, he was just dropping something off."

Barty raised an eyebrow. "But you're going out for an ice cream with him later?"

He was making her feel rather bad about it, but she didn't really see why she should. "He prefers having meetings over lunch rather than in here."

Barty scowled, as if he thought that was a lame excuse. "We should try that sometime."

"We should," she said in an attempt to make him feel better, but it wasn't the same when he offered. He was only doing it to get one up on Sander; it wasn't like he'd had the idea himself.

Barty looked like he was about to say something about it, but then noticed the foe glass that was standing on her desk. "What's that?"

Gwen glanced at the back of it briefly before looking back at him. "It's nothing. Just a birthday present for my mum."

"A foe glass?" He sounded curious.

"Yeah, Sander's company make's them. He was just dropping it off."

Barty frowned, and Gwen couldn't quite understand why. "So that was all?"

Inwardly, Gwen rolled her eyes. Did he think he was somehow in competition with Sander? Although it was flattering in a way, it was still a stupid notion. "Yeah, that's all."

Barty nodded, but he seemed keen to move on from the subject of Sander and get on to the reason he'd come here. "Alright. So what did you call round for on Saturday?"

She blushed. "Well, there was an article about us in the _Daily Prophet. _Did you see it?"

"I'm afraid I did." Following the argument with his father he'd made a point of looking it up.

"What do you think we should do about it?"

"I suppose kidnapping Rita Skeeter and subjecting her to the Open-Air Mer-Chorus performing all of Mickelwal's operas in succession isn't an option?"

Gwen couldn't help but smile at that. "'Fraid not."

Barty grinned back at her but then his expression became serious again. "I suppose we just ignore it then, and hope she doesn't write any more…" he trailed off for a moment, thinking, and then said, "You don't think she heard what we were saying, do you?"

She knew he was worried about anyone discovering his banking arrangements. "I don't think so. If she did, she didn't report on it."

Barty frowned. "Good. But maybe we should be more careful in future."

Gwen nodded, and was optimistic that his response meant he still wanted to go out with her. "Alright. So are we going out again?"

"Yeah, where do you want to go?"

She thought about that for a moment. "We could go to the theatre? Or the opera, actually. Mickelwal's rather good when not performed by a Mer-Chorus."

He smiled. "Can't say I'm a huge fan, but if it's what you fancy. When are there any performances on?"

"There's one at the Chelsea Dionysia tomorrow night, actually. My dad's got a box at the theatre, we could go to that."

"Not tomorrow, I'm busy."

Gwen looked disappointed. "Oh."

He smiled in an attempt to cheer her up. "There are other performances though, right? I can do Wednesday."

"My dad's renting the box out the rest of the week. We could do the Saturday matinee though."

"Sounds good. I've got to get back to work now, but I'll try and call round again before Saturday. I need to review some banking arrangements anyway."

She smiled at him on his way out. "Sure. I'll see you soon then Barty."

"I'll see you soon, Gwen. Oh, and…" he paused at the door, "Which opera is it?"

"_Les Mysteres._"

Barty's expression suggested he'd never heard of it, but he tried to cover that up. "Great, I'm looking forward to it. Bye, Gwen."

"Bye." Gwen sighed and sat back down at her desk, wishing she hadn't managed to upset both Sander and Barty. What was with that look they'd given each other when Barty had first arrived? Did they really think they were rivals? Barty was her boyfriend and Sander was just… Actually, it wasn't as simple as that, Gwen realised. She supposed Barty was technically her boyfriend, but Sander wasn't _just _a client. She'd quite like to consider him a friend, actually, but she wondered if Barty hadn't been on the scene then maybe she'd be considering something more with Sander.

Bugger. This had the potential to turn into a right mess.

She took today's paperwork out of her in-tray and tried to get on with work, hoping she'd be able to sort things out with Sander later.

**A/N: Why the opera? Because since they're both from relatively affluent upper-middle class families it seemed appropriate. Also, I like opera. I don't know all that much about it, but I have a couple of arias on my iPod and I think it sounds nice, and I really want to see_ Madame Butterfly _or _Turandot _at the theatre. I made up Mickelwal so that I could have a wizarding composer and make it more relevant to the story. Thanks to you if you reviewed.**

**To sara253xxx: Was there a reason for his sudden interest? Hmm...the general reason is that Barty's odd behaviour hasn't completely escaped his attention, and he's just trying to find a way to work out what exactly his son's doing. There's possibly a more specific reason, although I'm not sure how important it's going to be to the story yet. Most of the plot points I've thought were pretty insignificant so far have actually turned out to be really important. I'm as interested as you are to see where this goes :)**

**To Musicunderground: I think he's started acting that way because he's noticed that there's _something _odd about his son's behaviour, but really doesn't know how to talk to him to find out what's going on. So they end up having an argument. I think that's going to be a recurring theme throughout this story, as every time I imagine them together it always results in conflict. I think Crouch Sr. probably is really proud of his son and _does _love him, but he's just really bad at expressing it. So Barty then feels neglected and behaves the way he does just because he wants to piss off his father and get attention, so that results in them being constantly at each other. I dunno...I never really thought about it until I started writing this story. It's weird how writing makes you think more about stuff like that.**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: I know there didn't appear to be much conflict yet between Barty and Sander, but trust me, plenty is on its way. Oh, and yes, I know I have my character's eating ice cream for lunch. It isn't healthy, but I am so obsessed with ice cream even I do that sometimes, lol :P**

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Gwen was slightly worried when she arrived outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour later and Sander wasn't waiting for her, but then looking through the window she noticed he'd chosen to sit inside rather than under the veranda, as the weather was rather gloomier than last time they'd been here. She caught his eye as she went inside and smiled at him, and she was pleased to see he gave her a warm smile back. He didn't seem mad at her at all.

"Hi," he greeted her as she sat down. "You managed to sort things out with that other client?"

"Oh, Barty? Yes, thanks, everything's fine."

He frowned slightly. "So he's just a client then?"

Gwen didn't think it was any of his business, but she could understand why he was asking. "Well, he _is _a client, but we are sort of dating."

"Sort of?"

She wished he wouldn't ask questions about her and Barty. She felt like she was being mean to him when she had to answer. "Well, we've been on one date. And we're supposed to be going on another one, but we've only been together a couple of weeks."

He nodded, but his expression still appeared concerned. "And are you sure about him? How well do you know him?"

She gave him a slightly admonishing look. "That's a bit of a personal question, isn't it?"

He looked slightly embarrassed and apologetic, but re-enforced the question. "I just what to be sure he's…good for you."

Gwen rolled her eyes. She'd just assumed Sander happened to be the kind of person who had an incredibly friendly nature, but maybe he'd been especially nice to her because he was contemplating asking her out. If so, then it explained his hostility towards Barty. "Oh, not you as well. He seemed to think you were somehow both rivals. Look, Sander, I like you and all but I've only met you once and I like Barty too and…"

He cut her off. "I saw his face in the foe glass."

That caught her by surprise. "What?"

"On the way out. I looked in the foe glass and I could see his face clear as day."

She frowned. So that was _two _dark detectors that seemed to play up around Barty. "I didn't see anything."

"You weren't looking."

"Are you sure it wasn't because, well…you feel _threatened _by him? He seemed to have this crazy idea the pair of you are somehow in competition too."

Sander shook his head dismissively. "Gwen, if he's your boyfriend and you're happy with him then that's great and I'm pleased for you, but I just want to make sure he's trustworthy."

She was flattered that he seemed so concerned for her, but at the same time it irritated her. He'd only met Barty briefly just a couple of hours ago and he was already picking fault with him. Not that their relationship was any of his business anyway. "Look, Sander, I appreciate your concern but really you have nothing to worry about."

Her gave her an earnest look, and despite her earlier doubts she thought that maybe he was saying it out of good intentions and not just jealousy. "Gwen, I want to believe that, but those dark detectors aren't faulty. Martijn's been an auror for years and he's said that the dark detectors we build are the most reliable he's ever used. I wouldn't have seen Barty's face in the glass so clearly if the argentite hadn't picked something up."

Gwen was beginning to get concerned now. Sander insisted the detectors were functional and that was two of them that seemed to detect something around Barty, but the notion that he practised dark magic still wasn't even vaguely plausible. "Sander, his father's the head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. There's nothing dodgy about him."

Sander nodded and leaned back in his seat. "If you say so. I just want you to be absolutely sure."

Gwen wasn't sure that she was, so changed the subject. "Let's look at the menu, shall we?"

"Ok. Are we going to have a proper meal or just eat ice cream again?"

"Ice cream's the only thing they sell isn't it?"

"Ice cream it is then."

They each scanned the menu for a few seconds before Sander noticed something he liked. "Mint Kiwi Sundae? They do _Mint Kiwi Sundae? _How did I not notice that last time I was here?"

Gwen shrugged. "It's always been on the menu."

"I have _got _to try that."

"I had it when I came with my dad over the summer. It's bloody weird – completely ruined kiwis for me."

"I'm having it anyway, just so I can say I've tried it."

Gwen laughed, "Ok, but don't say you weren't warned."

She scanned the menu for a few more seconds before Sander spoke to her again. "Decided what you're having yet, _Gwentje?"_

She gave him a funny look. "What did you just call me?"

"Ah, it's sort of like this Dutch pet name thing where you stick _'-tje' _on the end. Sorry, would you prefer it if I didn't call you that?"

Gwen laughed, thinking she didn't actually mind him calling her that one bit. "No, actually I quite like it." She repeated the name back to herself, then a thought occurred to her. "So can I call you _Sandertje?"_

He really laughed at that, "You could, but it sounds stupid."

She blushed. "I don't know what sounds stupid in Dutch and what doesn't."

"Don't worry about it. It doesn't sound stupid in Dutch _per se, _it's just that most of my friends call me San."

"Ok. Can I call you that?"

"Call me whatever you like. But '_Sandertje' _would sound a little weird coming from you. Only my mother ever called me that."

She noticed his use of 'called', past tense, but didn't comment on it.

Later on, when Gwen got back to work, she felt quite glad that she hadn't scared Sander off by inadvertently introducing him to Barty. However, she was also worrying more about why dark detectors behaved oddly around Barty. Maybe his plans for making money weren't as innocent as she'd believed. What if he was involved in something illegal? Maybe he needed the money to pay off loan sharks. Death Eater loan sharks. But if that was the case, what had he needed the loan for in the first place? The whole thing sounded ridiculous, but she was struggling to come up with an explanation that fit.

As much as she felt reluctant to, she thought she was going to have to confront him. This seemed to have been going on too long, and if he wanted her help to make any more money then he was going to have to tell her what he was up to. Next time she saw him – hopefully before Saturday – she resolved with herself to make a point of finding out exactly what was going on.

**A/N: I was worried Sander might be acting two familiar with her, especially since this is technically only the second time he's met her, but then I decided that he genuinely is that friendly and probably a bit of a flirt as well. **

**I got the '-tje' thing from Simone Simons and Floor Jansen as I noticed they call each other 'Floortje' and 'Simonetje'. I understand that it's a suffix that literally means 'little + [word stem]'. I hope I've applied it in the right context.**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Although the overall story is far from finished, I've changed this volume's status to 'complete' as I'm going to split the story into parts to prevent the chapter and word countreaching a ridiculous length for a single story, and because there are very distinct plot arcs to each section that I want to separate out. We should be wrapping up the money storyline with Pettigrew here, but if anyone wants to find out what scheme Barty gets caught up in next, please check out my profile for the sequel(s).  
**

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

As usual, Barty didn't have much trouble getting out of the house on Tuesday night. His father was working the late shift (or rather what seemed like the 24 hour shift); his mother had gone to bed early and Winky had grown accustomed to his 'trips to the Hog's Head' that she never reported back to his father. So it was that at seven o' clock that Tuesday evening, Barty found himself in a hardware store on Knockturn Alley in the presence of Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange and Walden Macnair (who, thanks to Barty's selective gathering of evidence, had been acquitted the previous week).

Barty was the last to arrive, which meant that when he did so he was greeted by contemptuous glances from the other four. "Have you got the money?" Malfoy asked brusquely the moment after Barty apparated in front of him.

"I have a bank note," Barty said, trying to keep his voice from shaking in an attempt to hide his nerves.

"I hope that will be good enough for Pettigrew. _I _have brought cash," Malfoy said with a sneer in his voice, indicating the bags of money laid out on the floor behind him. Even at a time like this he couldn't resist gloating about his wealth.

"It will be good enough," Barty responded, feeling fairly confident that what he said was true. If Pettigrew wanted to live then he had no choice but to forfeit the money.

"I've told Pettigrew to meet us here," Malfoy continued, "Then we will escort him back to my family home where the Dark Lord is waiting for us."

"That's if the treacherous little rat shows up," Bellatrix spat following Malfoy's statement.

Nobody had a chance to say anything more though before they all heard a voice from the back of the store. "He will."

They all turned to see a small figure emerging from the shadows.

"Pettigrew," Rodolphus said disdainfully.

"Let me see the money," Pettigrew demanded, his voice a squeak.

At that all four Death Eaters, except Barty, gave a rather menacing laugh. "Not yet, Pettigrew," Rodolphus continued. "Not until you've come with us."

"How do I know the money's genuine?"

Bellatrix opened one of Malfoy's money bags and took out a galleon, which she threw forcefully at Pettigrew. "That good enough for you, you ungrateful scum?"

Looking rather intimidated, Pettigrew gave a small nod. "Yes, yes that's fine."

"Right then," said Macnair, reaching into his robes and taking out what looked like a pocket watch on a long gold chain. "Well, I have the portkey here. You'll stand beside me and Bellatrix, Pettigrew. Malfoy will handle the money, and don't even think about trying to make a run for it."

Pettigrew looked genuinely scared as he approached Macnair to take hold of the chain of the pocket watch, but Barty wondered how much of it was just an act, like it had been the last time they'd met. A few moments after they had each grabbed hold of part of the portkey, they found themselves standing in a vast, gloomy entrance hall with a grand, ornate ceiling and marble floor. The hall wasn't deserted; several other hooded figures stood surrounding them, and Barty looked round in particular for the one he was most keen to see. As his gaze fell upon the one figure who wasn't hooded, he felt his pulse quicken. The man in question began to approach them, red eyes glinting and thin lips curving into a wicked smile.

"My loyal followers," Lord Voldemort greeted them, "You have brought me the man with the information I require?" His gaze passed over the five Death Eaters in front of him, and as he looked at Barty the youth ran his tongue over his lips nervously and lowered his eyes. It felt strange to him, being noticed like this. He was being noticed by someone important. More than that, he was being praised for doing something that mattered. For once, he wasn't just an insignificant detail: he was an important part of the Dark Lord's plans, and the thought made him feel elated.

"He is here, my Lord," Rodolphus said, shoving Pettigrew forwards roughly so that the man gave a squeak of terror.

"Ah, yes," said Voldemort. "Pettigrew, are you satisfied with the payment I can give you?"

Pettigrew gave a terrified nod.

Voldemort leaned even closer to him so her was leering into his face. "Then tell me the whereabouts of James and Lily Potter."

There was silence for a few moments as Pettigrew seemed to frightened to speak, instead just making incoherent squeaking sounds, but then managed to compose himself enough to form a sentence. "W-wait. There is s-something…"

Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously and he lowered his voice to a threatening whisper, "What is it, Pettigrew?"

"There is something Crouch wants to say to you first," Pettigrew spat out, and Barty immediately sensed all in the eyes in the room turn to look at him. He felt very awkward and frightened.

Voldemort turned his red eyes to Barty and looked at him questioningly. "What do you have to say to me, Crouch?" His tone was insistent.

Barty realised Pettigrew had been serious in his threat. All this frightened, pathetic exterior was just an act, and if Crouch didn't say something to defend him then Pettigrew would no doubt somehow manage to escape and expose him to his father. "Pettigrew has decided that he would like to become one of your followers, my Lord, not merely an informant." Barty's eyes flickered down to look at Pettigrew, who seemed to be watching him nervously to see where this was going.

Voldemort kept his menacing gaze on Barty. "Oh yes?"

"He has told me he is willing to forfeit the money in order to be accepted into your circle of followers." The look on Pettigrew's face told Barty that he was not at all happy to forfeit the money, but had little choice but to go along with it now.

"Is this so, Pettigrew?" Voldemort asked, turning back to the rat-man.

"Yes, my Lord," Pettigrew said, kneeling at his feet.

"Do you wish for me to Mark you?"

"Yes, my Lord. Please, my Lord."

Voldemort seemed to consider this for a few moments before reaching his conclusion. "I'm not sure I want that."

"M-my Lord?" Pettigrew stammered, seemingly even more panicked and terrified than before.

"I don't think I want _Peter Pettigrew, _best friend of one of my enemies, in my circle of followers."

"My Lord, please…" Pettigrew was begging.

"That will not do. What name should we have for you instead?"

At that, Pettigrew seemed to calm down somewhat. "My Lord?"

"I do not want the name Pettigrew forever associated with me. What shall I call you instead?" He leant closer to Pettigrew, who whispered something in his ear, and then Voldemort straightened and gave a satisfied smile. "_Wormtail? _Very good, very appropriate. Now hold out your arm, _Wormtail."_

Pettigrew did as he was instructed, and Voldemort took hold of his wrist and roughly pushed back the material of his sleeve. He then took out his wand and pressed the tip to the soft skin on the inside of Pettigrew's arm. _"Morsmordre." _

Pettigrew screamed as the Dark Mark was burnt into his skin and Barty flinched, remembering his own initiation not that long ago. It had felt like a red hot iron being applied to his flesh from the inside out. He had screamed too.

Just a few moments later it was over and there was silence in the hall once more. Once again Voldemort leaned in close to Pettigrew to speak to him, but his voice carried throughout the hall. "Are you ready to serve your master, Wormtail?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Then tell me, where are the Potters?"

Wormtail took a deep breath before answering, "Godric's Hollow."


End file.
